Reluctant Thieves
by BleedingTwilight
Summary: Final Capter Posted. A Roman peasant must steal Tristan's sword to be free of an old debt. Stealing the sword is easy compared to what follows.
1. Getting to Know You

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and I am fairly sure you can figure out which ones they are. **

This is my second story, and I realize it starts out a bit slow but give me a chance it will pick up rather fast after this. I love reviews, so feel free to do so if you get the urge (hint, hint).

Chapter 1: Getting to Know You

Cassia sat in the rafters of the barn for the third night in a row. This night, however, she could barely contain her gaiety. The knights had returned, just past sundown, with one fewer in their company. Now only nine men stood where just days ago stood ten and where years ago stood twenty. Now, Cassia was not so wretched a creature as to enjoy the suffering of other, but she was not so pious as to care if it did not benefit her. This death, however, benefited her more than she was willing to let on.

Six months she had studied the knights from her vantage in either the shadows or the rafters. She had become accustomed to each of their life styles and quirks. She took pride in the fact that she probably knew these men's habits better than they themselves did. Few knew the reason that Galahad could never hit the bull's-eye perfectly was because he dropped his shoulder too soon. Or that Percival was so superstitious before a mission that he would always take the same path to the barracks with the same number of steps and the same wench after the same number of drinks. Even fewer knew that Gawain had a soft spot for a certain village girl that he would follow home some nights just to ensure she was safe. Or how, Dagonet's eyes would give away his yearning to have a family of his own when he watched Bors with his bastards. And probably the most shocking revelation of all, Tristan knew how to smile. Quite often, in fact, he could be found (perhaps found wasn't the best way of describing it, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen) smiling at the antics of his fellow knights or the villagers.

Speaking of Tristan, he was the reason for this entire situation. Cassia had a job to do and Tristan was the only thing standing in her way. But that would be taken care of soon enough. In her studies Cassia had discovered two very important details about the aforementioned scout. First was that he kept his weapons in a locked chest within his very poorly, according to Cassia, decorated room and the key with which to open said chest was kept on his person at all times. Second, she had found out very early on that the only time Tristan would drink more than one mug of ale was after the death of another knight. She assumed that since he was a scout he probably needed his senses a bit more than the others, for they took part in drinking and whoring quite regularly.

These two details, to anyone else, would probably matter little but to Cassia they were invaluable. This was due to that fact that Cassia needed Tristan's sword to repay a debt, and it seemed the only way to get it was to drug his wine and steal his key and belongings once he fell asleep. This would be a near impossible feat for anyone, but Cassia had been indebted long enough.

'Freedom is freedom whether it is by his blade or for it. I shall be a free woman by the night's end,' Cassia thought as she slowly slunk through the shadows of the rafters and out a window. Indebted for four years since the death of her husband, Cassia only wished for one thing on this earth, freedom.

In her six months of study, Cassia hadn't once been seen or heard by any inhabitants of the fort. She lived in the next village as to not raise suspicion when she disappeared after her task was completed. She simply snuck in through one of the many secret entrances of the fort, did what was needed, and snuck back out.

'Silly Romans always so paranoid,' she thought as she squeezed through the narrow passage that led just beyond the walls of the fort. At the entrance lay her belongs. A simple worn leather bound sack contained all she held dear. Inside was a small herb kit for healing minor injuries, an old dagger for cutting herbs, a change of clothes, and a bracelet with a single emerald charm upon it. The last of these being the only possession worth anything to her.

Cassia slipped the sack over her shoulders and maneuvered the narrow way back into the fort. By this time, the body of the fallen comrade had been moved for preparations, and the knights had gathered in the tavern. Each knight sat around a table in the corner of the tavern nursing their own brew. Somehow Lancelot was already well into his third while the others were barely beginning their second. Each man held a pensive look which marred his otherwise handsome features. Even Galahad, who probably didn't know what the word pensive meant, looked lost in a sea of his own thoughts this night.

'Must have been quick and unexpected,' Cassia thought as she quickly surveyed to see which one of the group was missing and ultimately who was now free or dead depending on how one looked at it. Going through the list of names in her head it came to her. 'Lamorack!' her mind supplied, 'Poor Percival,' was the next thought that sprung into her head. They had been very tight friends, sharing almost everything. Looking over to where Percival sat, Cassia could see the streaks in the grime on his face where he had obviously cried uncaring of who knew. Though Cassia was not a noble soul in the least, well not since her husband's death anyway, she still felt compassion for the knights' situation. After all, thievery was not something she had willing chosen for her self as they had not chosen their fates.

Seeing that, though the knights were well into their ale, it was going to take a while before they would be incapacitated, Cassia left the tavern to do some remembering of her own. Slowly she reached the hut that housed the healer from the village. It was within sight of the tavern entrance so she could still keep an eye out for the knights. Silently, Cassia climbed the small tree just outside the hut and onto its finely thatched roof, one of the only well built huts in the village. She lay out on the thatching admiring the clear night, for they were so rare in Britain. Staring up at the crescent moon while fingering the one on the inside of her wrist, Cassia was overcome by memories of her past.

_The Roman estate sat upon a lush hill top overlooking the great city. Surrounding it were gardens that encompassed one's senses to a state of euphoria. Cassia carried a large basket of fresh fruit up the hill to the estate. It was an unusually cool morning for Rome and Cassia's thin robes were doing nothing to ward off the chill._

_"Cursed weather, make up your mind! Is it to be hot or cold, this indecision is driving me mad," she called to the heavens._

_"You know what they say about talking to yourself," came a deep voice behind her._

_On any other morning Cassia would have loved to see her betrothed's face, but on this morning all she wished for was to be back in bed. "Yes, I am very well aware that I am mad! Didn't you just hear me say that, or are you just as deaf as the weather?"_

_"Careful, my love, those words have barbs with which to fell the heavens themselves. Now, please tell me what has my flower so upset?" he chastised good naturedly._

_Cassia looked to her soon-to-be husband's calm face and saw that he was not actually taunting her with his words, and sighed. "It is nothing, Marcus, just resentment that I should have to carry fruit while dearest Lucia lays on couches and eats grapes all day. She told me, I was not worth my wages today. How can she say that when she has yet to even pay me last months wages. I am not a fool, I know she considers me her slave, and I cannot stand for it!" Cassia soon found her basket forgotten and her self embraced in Marcus' loving arms._

_"Hush, as soon as we are married, you shall never have to work again, I promise," he whispered into her chestnut locks._

_True to his word, Marcus never let Cassia work another day once they were married. Cassia sat in her small home, mending some sheets, as Marcus returned home with his head of brown curls hung low._

_Raising her head from her task Cassia asked, "what is the matter, Marcus. You were so happy this morning."_

_Marcus paced to her and took her in his arms causing her to drop her work. "I have done wrong by you. I never meant to. I…I," he couldn't finished his thoughts as she made eye contact with him._

_Seeing the pain in his normally clear blue eyes she asked again, "what troubles you. What have you ever done to wrong me? I have never been so happy in my life." When she heard no answer she continued, "Is it a woman, for I can forgive that if it pains you so. A broken promise, perhaps? Well I was never one for promises so consider your self released from it. A lie, a mistake…"_

"_I have a debt I can never pay," he whispered as he pulled her closer to him. _

"_Is it money, for I can go back to Lucia. She would take me back."_

"_No. It's in blood."_

"_What does that mean?"_

"_Lives were lost because of me, and now I am responsible for the debts that they once owed. It's not just that either, those deaths caused them many losses which I am responsible for," he paused for a moment before continuing. "I have done wrong by you. I promised to protect and love you and now I have put you in danger. Please, I beg you to leave me to my own fate. I wish none of this upon you sweet shoulders," he finished in a broken whisper._

"_You ask me to leave you?" Cassia stepped back from his embrace in shock. "You ask of me the only thing you know I will never agree to?" diverted eyes were her only reply. "Well I refuse! I made a vow and I plan to keep it, even if it is the death of me. I will not leave you for any price, luxury, or man. You will just have to deal with me," she finished almost smugly._

"_Forgive me, you are too good to me even now," Marcus whispered as he once again embraced her placing soft kisses to her forehead and cheeks. "I could not imagine life without you."_

Cassia was torn from her memories as she heard an exceptionally loud commotion coming from the tavern. Quickly slipping off the roof and back into the shadows, Cassia made her way back to the out door tavern. From where she stood, it seemed as though a fight had broken out between two Romans who had been gambling their meager salaries away all night. For once it seemed, the knights were not a part of the brawl but were none the less distracted by it as were all of the other patrons.

Cassia took her chance and slipped through the throngs of people to the wench assigned to the knights table. The girl was barely half Cassia's age, probably only sixteen summers, and seemed overwhelmed by the crowds around her. The two pitchers she was to bring to the knights' table sat unattended at the counter as she tried her hardest to get a view of the brawl, with little luck. The poor girl couldn't have been more than five foot one or two and was surrounded by men of six feet in many cases. Cassia saw her opening as the girl was distracted and quickly placed the herb powders she had retrieved from her bag into the two pitchers. She did not like having to drug all of the knights, basically leaving the fort defenseless, but there was really no way to single out Tristan's drink and not get caught.

As soon as she had drugged the ale, Cassia slipped back out of the crowd and into the shadows. As she went Cassia slipped a glance to the knights. From the looks of it, the herbs probably wouldn't be necessary because even Tristan, who drank the least, had at least four empty mugs in front of him. Smiling to her self, Cassia wandered back to where her things lay.


	2. An Unwanted Task

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the originals.**

Note: Thank you to my sole reviewer, it was greatly appreciated. Reviews are always welcome!

Forgot to add this to the first chapter, but incase you were confused…

"speech"

'thoughts'

_memories_

Chapter 2: An Unwanted Task

Not an hour after leaving the tavern, Cassia sat in the alley behind the knight's barracks. Tristan had just entered his dark room which Cassia now sat beneath. He nearly hadn't made it to his quarters, having fallen several times and nearly passing out in the stables while settling his steed. He was now stumbling through his room, rather loudly for his silent nature, but was still far quieter than anyone in the fort would have been. He was fighting the drug rather fiercely, for most of the knights had passed out right where they sat, at their table in the tavern. Tristan had somehow managed to make it to his room but judging from the loud thud she had just heard, he had now joined his brothers in unconsciousness. Standing up in her place, Cassia peeked into the darkened room and saw that Tristan had indeed passed out half draped over his cot.

Cassia took that as her cue to make her way into the barracks. Up until this point, Cassia had been wearing a deep forest green riding cloak and riding boots which blended in with all of the travelers that passed through the fort. She now removed her cloak, and was left in the clothes she had stolen the week before from the maids' quarters. Cassia lifted the basket she carried, placing her satchel and cloak into the basket so that it looked as though she carried laundry. She bustled out into the street and hurried into the barracks with a simple nod to the Roman guards. She had seen these guards before and they seemed to be decent men never causing trouble with the local women like several other guards.

Once inside, Cassia quickly slipped through the halls which she hoped that she could navigate. It was a simple building with one corridor winding through it. It was two stories but no one lived on the second floor anymore because when a knight on the first floor would pass they would move one down. Now only nine knights survived leaving even one empty room on the ground floor. She knew that Tristan's was the farthest room overlooking the eastern wall. This was because being a scout he was usually up before the sun so it wouldn't bother him to have light in his room so early.

Coming to the end of the hall, Cassia removed her pick and file from her satchel and bent at the scout's door. With deft precision she picked the lock and silently slid the door open. Cassia looked about the room with pity. She had known slaves in Rome with more to their name than this knight. His room was not very large but the lack of furniture or possessions made it seem desolate. Cassia could count the adornments on her hand. There was his small table and chair, in the near corner beside the northern window, for cleaning weapons or eating at if he needed time apart. There was the water basin along the wall next to his cot that was now knocked to the floor and spilled about. There was a fairly large chest beneath the eastern window that Tristan often sat upon to watch the sunrise if he wasn't on duty, but its true purpose was to hold his meager supply of clothing. There was a long shelf above his cot with the items he had acquired while at the fort. A golden chalice from a bishop's visit, a small bag of healing herbs for lone missions, a Roman's dinner mug (because if they didn't possess their mug their wouldn't receive rations and Tristan was not above revenge), and lastly three objects that Cassia did not know the origins of, a crude dagger that he never used and a delicate shell that would have been more fitting in her own room back in Rome, and a dried rose lay on the end looking more beautiful that when it was living, which judging from the sleeping form of the knight before her, would be true of him too.

Then finally there was the bed that Tristan lay half draped over with his boots off, his breeches half tied and his tunic crumpled at his feet. Had she not known what a fierce warrior Tristan was rumored to be, Cassia would have taken him for the average bloke that inhabited these parts. There was nothing particularly frightening about the scout, in sleep, but somehow Cassia had the feeling if it had not been drug induced she might be singing a different tune. However, he looked peaceful at the moment and not like a man with the burden of yet another lost friend on his shoulders. That was when she saw the chest at the foot of the bed.

Cassia knew her task, but was unwilling to admit even to herself, that she had misgivings about it. She knew how Tristan regarded his weapons. It was obvious just by the way he cleaned them after battle. Cassia often found her self drawn to watching him gently rub any dirt or blood off of them with caressing strokes. She hated to admit it but she envied those blades for the simple reason that not even her late husband had ever been that gentle or attentive to her. But more than that she understood that Tristan's blades were probably the only thing from his past that he still possessed. Those were Sarmatian blades he wielded and no other could replace them. Something she knew all too well.

For the second time that night Cassia was shaken from her thoughts by commotion. This time it came from the scout himself. His body shook with a fit of coughing, but he did not wake instead slipping off the bed completely into a pile of limbs on the floor. The way he slid off the bed was almost comical to Cassia who was still standing in front of the closed door. At first it was a slow decent, taking most of the blanket with him. Then with a very unpleasant sounding thump, Tristan's head followed the rest of his body to the floor where he lay motionless in sleep.

Cassia felt pity for the poor knight whose pride would have never allowed for this to ever happened if he were coherent, but sadly for him he wasn't coherent to stop it. Her pity however, was quickly forgotten as she realized that she had wasted enough time watching the golden eyed scout. Cassia quickly moved to where Tristan lay and gently eased him off of his tunic which had gotten trapped after the fall. Finding that the key was not in any hidden pocket on the tunic, she moved to the knight himself. Since he wore no shirt, Cassia figure it must be in a pocket of his pants. Several awkward minutes later, she surmised that there were in fact no secret pockets in his pants and several other details about the knight that would probably be best left unstated.

Keyless and running out of time before dawn Cassia decided to do things the hard way. Going back to her basket she retrieved the pick and file once again and moved closer to the chest. The lock on the chest was nothing too complex, but it would be easy to tell if it had been picked, and the longer it took for Tristan to find out the farther away she would be. And Cassia would need every moment she could get to flee for and with her life. Slowly and carefully Cassia lifted the lock and placed the pick to begin her task. About five minutes later the lock was opened and laying on the floor next to the chest. Cassia had lifted the lid and now stared at one of the most whispered about weapons in all of Britain. The curved blade of the silent scout was more spoken of than Arthur himself because of the lives it would take with a single slice. Cassia was not one to be awe struck and knowing little about blades herself, didn't waste time gawking. Instead she lifted the scabbard and sword from the chest and quickly placed it in her basket.

She hadn't foreseen exactly how long this blade actually was because if she had she would have realized that no laundry basket could ever hold this thing. She quickly closed the chest and replaced the lock, praying to God that he would be too sick in the morning to notice. She then took the basket to the window and opened it, lowering the sword to the alley below. She hoped that in the late hour no one would pass and take it before she left. Then with her task finished, Cassia closed the window and headed for the door.

As she passed the scout laying in what had to be a very uncomfortable position on the floor, her pity got the best of her. She couldn't drug him, steal from him, and leave him in a pile. Placing her basket on the floor she once again approached the scout. She didn't know exactly how to go about it, seeing as she was very small and not very strong compared to him, but she would get him on the bed. Before doing anything, she sent a silent prayer up to whatever god might be listening that the herbs were strong enough and he wouldn't wake now. Carefully, Cassia placed her hands under his arms and tried to heft him into a sitting position. Once there, she tried to pull him up onto the cot. This was much harder to do than it sounds and she only achieved in getting herself frustrated.

After several more failed attempts, Cassia thought of a better idea. Being a scout, Tristan was probably used to sleeping on the ground or in a tree or just in uncomfortable situations in general. So, Cassia gave up trying to get him on the bed and just lay him flat on the floor and pushed the rest of the blanket off the bed so it fell on him just right but in a way that looked plausible.

Once certain that the knight was settled in a less awkward set up, Cassia moved to her satchel one last time removing her emerald bracelet from one of its compartments. It was the one thing she held dear in this life and was most unwilling to part with. However, she had taken from him his most valued possession so it was a fair trade even if he would never understand it. If need be, he could sell it to buy a new sword. Cassia couldn't think any longer of what would happen to the small but beautiful token of her late husband's love, or else she would not leave it.

_Cassia sat on the small wall dividing Lucia's estate from the road. Her cheeks were tear streaked and her breath ragged. She was so lost in her grief that she didn't notice Marcus' presence. _

"_Why are you crying, my love," came a sweet whispered next to her ear. Cassia immediately turned into Marcus' open arms. _

"_I lost my mother's emerald," she sobbed into his chest. When she heard the low rumble of laughter in his chest she looked up confused and hurt. _

"_Do not fret, my dear. I have something for you," Marcus said in a soothing tone. Reaching into his pack he retrieved a small golden chain with a charm upon it. Placing it around her wrist, he explained, "You dropped the sac containing the gem in the kitchens two days ago. I found it and knew it to be yours, so I took it to a friend and had a bracelet made so you will never lose it again."_

_Cassia didn't know what to say as she stared transfixed at her wrist. Before she could form the words to thank him, he was kissing her ever so sweetly. When he pulled back he bent to look her in the eyes. "So, you will wear it always and never lose it?" she nodded her head as he wiped away her tears. "Good and you will always remember me look at it." _

"_Always," she whispered as she kissed him again. No one had ever given her a gift before, and she promised to care for it with her life._

Kissing the gem quickly, Cassia placed it upon the shelf above the scout's cot hoping that it might find a good home among the trinkets he had collected. Then, with her tasks completed, Cassia fled the barracks and the fort with little difficulty, hoping to find her freedom from a debt that was not her own.


	3. Unpleasant Surprise

Disclaimer: Don't own it!

Note: Thank you to my reviewers! I actually had a note to post here, but I forgot so I will go with the usual and say… Please Review. Hope you enjoy.

"speech"

'thoughts'

Chapter 3 Unpleasant Surprise

Tristan woke to a very unpleasant pounding in his head. As soon as his body reached a mild state of consciousness the pain set in. His entire body ached, and it wasn't the type of ache you get from too much ale. It was the kind of pain that you knew was there and was all encompassing, but if you were asked what was wrong you wouldn't be able to point it out exactly.

This frustrated the scout more than having drunk more than he should have. For, Tristan was the kind of man who prided himself on being able to pinpoint a problem immediately. It was his job. It wasn't for another five minutes of laying there that Tristan remembered why he had drank so much the night before. Then it all came pouring back the battle, Lamorack, drinking, and stumbling back to his room. Opening his eyes, Tristan took in his appearance. His blanket had fallen on him during the night but beneath that he was only wearing an unlaced pair of breeches.

'Well, it could have been worse,' Tristan thought to himself, 'I could be passed out at the tavern with the rest of them.' He still vaguely remembered being the only conscious knight when he left the bar. It did seem a bit odd that all of the knights had passed out, even Bors who prided himself on being able to hold his liquor better than any of the other knights. However, in his current state of haze Tristan couldn't see the suspicious nature of it all. He was too busy concentrating on how he was going to get off the floor.

Tristan knew that as soon as he moved his stomach was going to rebel. He could feel it already, he wasn't going anywhere without losing something in return. Being a patient man, Tristan sat for several more minutes just thinking. His mind was becoming less and less hazy and Tristan was beginning to truly take in his surroundings. He wasn't ready to give up this clarity just to empty his stomach and lose his equilibrium all over again. However, as fate would have it there was a knock on the door.

Arthur entered taking Tristan's grunt as permission. As soon as he entered, Arthur wished that he hadn't. After finding his men still passed out in the tavern, he came looking for the only knight that he thought had the sense enough not to get drunk last night. However, it was obvious that even Tristan's stony exterior was not impervious to the death of a close friend and too much ale.

After about two minutes of staring at each other and neither moving, Tristan decided to speak. "Do you need something Arthur," came the usual quiet rumble of the scout's voice. Arthur often thought that his raspy accented voice was retained simply because he didn't speak enough to loose it.

Feeling badly that he had only stared at his trusted knight as though there was something wrong with him Arthur answered, "I thought we might talk."

The look Tristan gave him was priceless and had it been anyone but Arthur, who seemed to have less of a sense of humor than the scout when feeling guilty, they would have broken out into peels of laughter. Tristan's head was tilted toward Arthur still on the floor with his fringe still in his eyes and an eyebrow raised behind it.

Arthur took the hint, "Okay, I didn't really come to talk," he confessed. "I came to see if you knew how every single one of my men could possibly all drink themselves into unconsciousness within a half an hour of each other. Van said that one minute they were all drinking and mourning and the next they were passed out and you were stumbling away trying to hold onto reality." Tristan just shrugged his shoulders because he really didn't have the ability to do anything else at the moment. This caused Arthur to continue, "Lancelot and Gawain missed guard duty this morning," Arthur ranted as he began to pace in front of his scout.

"They just lost, what could be considered, a brother to them," Tristan rationalized.

"What if the fort was attacked while they were drinking themselves into a stupor?"

"Then the Romans might have actually had to protect their own asses for once. Where are you going with this Arthur? What is really wrong?" Tristan had had just about enough if his commander this morning. Considering all of the pain Tristan was in, he hadn't had a headache until Arthur appeared.

"I'm worried, Tristan," Arthur almost sounded defeated. "I've seen so many of them die, I feel as though there is no hope for any of us. I feel as though with every one of our brothers that we lay in the earth, I fail you all yet again."

"Arthur, I may not speak very often, but I have ears. I have never heard on of the men blame you for another's death. I have never heard anyone say that you failed us. The fact that you mourn them with us is proof enough that you care, and that is more than many of the commanders I have seen."

"But…"

"Arthur, as you know, I am not a believer of any faith even my own country's. However, I do believe one thing above all else. A man chooses his own fate through his actions and discretions, no other man has the right or ability to choose that fate for another. So no matter how much you want to blame yourself for our lives or deaths, it is not yours to take credit for."

Arthur just looked at Tristan for a moment before shaking his head with a sad smile. "Tristan, you are far wiser than a man should be at your age. I should come to you more often, at least you don't argue with me over my beliefs." Tristan just grunted in reply while bringing his hand up to massage his eyelids. "That reminds me, Tristan?" Arthur hesitated a moment, "after the burial, I would like to meet with you. There are some maps and routes I would like to discuss with you." Tristan just nodded as Arthur turned to leave.

"Arthur, before you leave there is a favor I must ask of you," Tristan whispered but his commander was used to this and heard it.

"Anything," Arthur replied shocked that Tristan was asking for anything. Never in his four years of commanding the knight and certainly not in the six previous years that Tristan had spent at another fort had he ever heard of the knight asking a favor of any one.

"Bring me the basin in the corner," was all that the knight said. Arthur did as he was bid without question. Then he nodded to his knight and left him in peace for another hour until the funeral. As Arthur turned away from the door to walk down the hall he could hear retching behind Tristan's door. He only shook his head and continued to his own quarters.

Tristan rolled over onto his back once more after emptying his stomach. He was covered in sweat, exhausted, and not in the mood to face the world. Feeling that his stomach had calmed itself, he sat up. Getting off the floor and sitting on his bed, Tristan leaned over and retrieved a clean set of clothes from his chest. He then grabbed a small linen cloth and washed his face and neck before dressing. Once fully clothed and feeling a bit less bitter toward the sun for rising Tristan retrieved another linen cloth in order to clean his weapons which he hadn't gotten the chance to do after the battle. Feeling around his neck for the tiny key that he kept there, Tristan's anger began to rise when couldn't find it. However, he was distracted by his hawk tapping at his east window.

Quickly Tristan strode over to it and opened it so his hunting and scouting companion could enter. The bird flew in silently and perched itself on the chair in front of his table. There was a soft clank as something metal fell from her talons and Tristan knew immediately that she had retrieved his key from his horse's pack for him. After putting his weapons away the night before Tristan had gone to settle his horse and forgotten his key after putting it in his satchel for safe keeping.

After stroking her neck and beak several times, Tristan retrieved the key from his chair and walked to his chest. His hawk squawked quietly a couple times as he unlocked it. "How was your morning them, eh?" he said to the bird as he removed the lock. The bird squawked again and ruffled her feathers. "Yeah, mine wasn't too great either," Tristan replied knowing what she meant.

Lifting the lid of the chest Tristan reached for his saber, still looking at his bird. When his hand came back empty, Tristan's attention was diverted to the chest. Looking inside, to his horror, Tristan realized that his sword was no longer there.

Immediately Tristan's senses were on high alert, scanning the room for any sign that could explain this. His hawk was screeching from the sudden tenseness Tristan was giving off. Tristan rose from his kneeling position before the chest and stalked over to the table. The bird immediately took flight, not wishing to see her friend's darker side. Standing with his arms braced against the table Tristan scanned the room again, this time catching all of the tells his senses had not caught in his earlier state of haze. Four in total he spotted immediately the door, window latch, bed cover, and chest.

There was a deathly silence in the room for about ten seconds before the chair the bird had previously vacated was launched across the room and into the window, shattering it. Various other items in the room went flying about as he tore the place apart.

Within minutes half of the fort was standing outside the scout's room too afraid to go in, but too fascinated to leave because the scout so rarely showed emotion that anything regarding him was interesting. Arthur pushed his way through the crowd and didn't even hesitate when he entered the room he had left not five minutes earlier. 'What is going on? First all of my knights can't hold their ale, now my emotionless scout is causing a disturbance,' Arthur thought as she strode through the door. Upon stepping into the room, all was deathly quiet once again.

Tristan stood in the center of his now destroyed room. His chest heaved beneath his dark tunic which hung askew. His hair was even more disheveled than usual, if that was in fact possible. He had a dangerous glint in his eyes, but it wasn't until Arthur took in his scout's entire appearance that he became truly frightened. Holding two long curved knives, resembling sickles, Tristan looked like the harbinger of death himself. Arthur unconsciously took a step back as he saw Tristan's deathly calm stair. "What happened?" Arthur question even though he feared the answer.

Tristan strode toward Arthur still holding his knives menacingly. As he passed he breathed, "I know why your men lie unconscious." With that he glided out of the room on the black wings of death which he would surely bring to any who stood in his path. Arthur, not knowing what had just happened, followed his trusted scout to the tavern. He feared that he might have to apprehend Tristan if something went wrong, but he soon realized that the villagers knew when to avoid the knight in question.


	4. Drugged

**Disclaimer: As you have probably guessed by now based upon the other disclaimers, none of this belongs to me except the originals.**

Note: Once again thank you to my reviewers. This time I also remembered what I wanted to say in my note, unlike on the last chapter. This chapter is mostly dialogue which isn't exactly my strong suite so tell me what you think of it!

There is some bad language in this chapter not a lot but I don't want anyone to get offended because I didn't warn them.

Chapter 4 Drugged

Arriving at the tavern, Tristan strode to the knights table where they still lay passed out, in puddles of their own ale and drool. Once reaching it, he brought one of the sickles down on the table top with such force that it made a four inch split in the wood. The entire table shook and those near the disturbance woke pitifully.

"wha…what is the … Tristan are you insane!" Gawain said jumping up when he realized that the blade was not three inches from his face. "Are you trying to kill…" Gawain couldn't finish his statement as his stomach rebelled on him as well and he was found running to the corner of the tavern to retch.

"Tristan, Gawain is right. What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked confused.

"Vanora," the scout called quietly. The beautiful red head was at his side in a minute, knowing better than to disobey him in one of his moods.

"What can I do ya, Tristan?" she asked gently.

"Something to ease their stomachs," he stated simply. Vanora nodded and was returning before anyone had a chance to miss her. She quickly poured some tea into mugs and placed it before each knight as she went around waking them. The knights, as they woke, understood why they had it in front of them and drank it before they met poor Gawain's fate. By this time all were sitting up, groggy and disheveled wondering what had happened to them.

Once everyone's attention was on Arthur and Tristan, Arthur began. "Tristan what is the meaning of this?"

"Drugged," was Tristan's terse reply. All of the knights looked at him as though he had lost what little mind he had left.

"You think that you all were drugged," Arthur tried to make heads or tails of what his scout was saying. It didn't help that Tristan was not the most fluent speaker of any tongue but that of the silent variety. He could communicate an epic with a glance but couldn't piece together a coherent sentence if he wanted to.

"Drugged," Lancelot stated incredulously. "You are telling me that some one danced in here drugged us and left? Tristan, even you drank more than you should have last night. Do not blame some poor nonexistent soul for the sharp head and weak stomach you have this morning," Lancelot became serious as he finished.

Arthur did not know what to think, Lancelot had a valid point, but even Tristan with his moods, could not change so fast as the British weather. "Tristan, why do you think you were drugged?" Arthur decided to humor his knight, mainly because of the sickle Tristan still grasped. Tristan didn't often remove his twin knives from their chest, never mind their sheaths, so Arthur felt the urge to see what had happened to his usually calm scout.

"There is an herb that will put you to sleep and leave you to wake with such symptoms. It is unused by healers for that exact reason and in turn most do not know of its existence. It is used by thieves and rogues to rob travelers between outposts. I have seen it work before my own eyes on a number of occasions," Tristan spoke using more than his usual monosyllabic phrases.

"And why, pray tell, would someone do such a thing to us. As you can see, none of us have been robbed," Lancelot stated as he removed several coins from his pouch.

"Tristan, I'm afraid that Lancelot is right for once. Your mind is just battle weary," Arthur sighed seeing no reason to continue this conversation while one of their comrades lay in the morgue waiting to be buried.

"Do you think I carry these for fun," Tristan questioned as he gestured to the sickle still embedded in the tabletop with the one he still held tight.

"Tristan, make some sense," Percival shouted growing more frustrated with his comrades inability to communicate with anyone but his damn hawk.

"My sword was stolen," Tristan replied in an almost inaudible mumble, but Dagonet heard it. To have one's weapon stolen was a disgrace, but for one with as much pride in his blade as Tristan it would be devastating. Within the blink of an eye, Tristan flicked the blade he was holding to dislodge the one stuck in the table. With a grace that the stealthiest of cats would envy Tristan snatched the twirling blade out of mid air while turning to leave the tavern.

"What happened," Galahad asked, not being close enough to hear Tristan's words. By this time Tristan had stormed out of the tavern, knives in toe. Once the scout was out of ear shot, Dagonet reiterated what had been said. Galahad blanched at the thought of the most alert and deadly of the knights being stolen from like a common drunkard.

"He was drunk last night just as the rest of us," Bors stated, "he probably just miss placed them. They'll show up. No one's been bloody robbed."

"Not Tristan. Those weapons of his get locked up as soon as he returns once he has cleaned them. If they aren't in their chest they are either strapped to him or his horse," Kay stated, dashing Bors idea.

"But it's even less likely that he, out of all of us, would be robbed," Gawain said trying his hardest to comprehend what was happened because his head was still swimming.

"Not if he was drugged." All of the knights turned to see that it was Arthur who now spoke. "Vanora said that you all passed out within ten minutes of each other and that she had never seen Tristan struggle so much in leaving. It would explain a few things," Arthur reasoned to his men.

"But who…"

Galahad was cut off as Arthur continued. "I will need to send Tristan out to scout after the burial, but I fear he will be of little use without a sword and in his current sate."

"I will speak with him," Dagonet said as he rose from the table and left the tavern without another word.

Once Dagonet had left and the others had comprehended the situation, bedlam broke out among the knights. "Robbed…Robbed! We get no bloody respect around here," Lancelot shouted.

"Next thing you know they'll be having us fight their wars with sticks, gods forbid we carry weapons we might actually injury something," Kay shot back.

"Bet the bloody Romans took his sword. Always fought with him anyway," Bors threw in.

"Damn Romans couldn't even pull their heads out of their asses long enough to think of stealing his sword or drugging us never mind actually doing it," Gawain put in as he began to feel more like himself.

"Bet it was that whore Abby that's been hanging onto him for the past few weeks. She was a shifty bitch if you ask me," Galahad put in his two cents.

"Abby?" Lancelot said disbelief. "Abby hasn't gone near Tristan since she arrived three weeks ago. You're just jealous because she turns you down every time you ask her to warm your lap."

"And how would you know," Galahad shot back in anger.

"I know because she's been sharing my bed ever since she arrived. And trust me once they've…" Lancelot was promptly cut off by Gawain who had just begun to feel better and did not need to be ill again by listening to Lancelot.

"I for one don't care who did this. Whether it was a Roman, a wench, or a peasant all I know is that when I find them, I plan on killing them. That is if Tristan doesn't get to them first," Gawain said in a menacing tone. "If they get away with this who is to say they won't just slit our throats next time? I, for one, like my throat the way it is and don't like waking up to Tristan's blades inches away from my face. If that means killing a filthy thief, then so be it."

Everyone looked at Gawain as though they were afraid of his demeanor. Gawain was usually the most lighthearted of the knights. He rarely raised his voice in anger and was almost always smiling. However, when something did anger him he had a temper like a demon. Galahad had once joked that he had seen horns sprout from his best friend's head when he had been enraged at a Roman who had attempted to rape one of the village women. Galahad had been thoroughly smacked for the comment by Gawain who saw no humor in the poor girl's situation.

"Sorry Gawain, I think that there isn't going to be much left of this person once Tristan's finished with them," Percival said as he stood up and began to head for the door. "Maybe he'll let you watch, but right now Lamorack is waiting. I may have failed him in life, but I'm sure as hell not going to let his body sit there and rot while we contemplate the scout's actions," with that Percival disappeared into the flow of villagers in the street to go prepare for the funeral.

"He is right, my friends, we cannot do anything about this now. We have other duties to attend to, the first of which being Lamorack's burial. Go prepare and we will meet in the hall before we go to the cemetery," Arthur said in a resigned tone. All of the knights quietly nodded and disperse to their respective rooms to ready themselves for yet another emotional funeral. Each one seemed to be harder to bear than the last because the fewer men there were the tighter they became and the more likely it was that they would be next.


	5. Memories

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

Note: This chapter was the shortest when it was first written, then I reworked it and now it's the longest. As always, thank you to my reviewers. Reviews are always welcome so please R&R!

Chapter 5 Memories

Dagonet entered the stables without a word, knowing that Tristan would be there seeking refuge in the company of his animals. As was expected, Tristan was sitting in the far stall sharpening the blade of one of his many knives while his steed pranced nervously around him. Dagonet stood just outside the stall watching his comrade and waiting for acknowledgment.

"You want?" was the simple not quite question that was so typical of Tristan. The scout hadn't even lifted his head.

"I want to know that you are going to be alright, and that I won't have to dig another grave before the day is through," Dagonet said as he entered the stall and raised a gentle hand to soothingly pat the skittish horse.

"I'm fine, Dag. The only grave that will be dug before night fall will be that of the one who now carries my sword."

"Tristan, I know what that sword means to you, but you are needed here. Lamorak died yesterday. We are at risk of facing another attack. You will have to scout for Arthur, but I fear you would not be able to judge friend from foe if they were staring you in the eye in your current state." Dagonet tried to get through to Tristan but also understood that it was near impossible to do such on a good day never mind now. "Arthur has agreed to close the fort for several days. No one will be allowed in or out. If someone has your weapon they will surface."

"I am fine, Dagonet. I can scout," were Tristan's last words as he rose and marched out of the stable. Dagonet sighed and he too rose to leave. He hoped to whatever god might be listening that Tristan was indeed "fine" and would not take an innocent life to sate his thirst for revenge. Tristan had never been a vengeful or even overly violent person until the death of his best friend and mentor, Dinadan. Dagonet could almost recall the days where Tristan would smile freely and share jokes with his fellow knights. Now, Tristan was a mere shell of that man, and even less now without the gift Dinadan had presented him with once he felt the scout was skilled enough to wield it.

_Tristan had been at Hadrian's Wall for a little over six months. Everyone was beginning to become accustomed to his presence which was completely unobtrusive yet quite unnerving at times. They couldn't believe that the same young man that they had found battered, beaten, and left for dead by his own unit was now healthy and growing stronger by the day. Tristan still didn't speak unless spoken to, but he no longer shied away from all human contact. Dinadan had been the one to make sure that Tristan felt welcomed._

_Dinadan had found poor Tristan in the woods and he had thus taken it upon himself to care for him. Their temperaments seemed to be polar opposites, but they got along quite well. Dinadan was the only one that Tristan had spoken to for the first two months, but slowly he had coaxed Tristan out of his shell. It was always funny to watch them sitting side by side. Dinadan had a habit of being very social while Tristan tried at all cost to be anything but. Dinadan would make a joke and if Tristan was in the mood, he would retort back with a witty comment which would send the table into hysterics. _

_Not only had Dinadan taken the scout on as a friend but as a student as well. Tristan was still very weak from when they found him and Dinadan practiced with him every day to get his strength up in order for him to be able to accompany the knights on missions. It was sad to watch as the sparred because Tristan was among the tallest of the knights, but could barely wield a light sword. _

_After four months of sparring and building Tristan up, Dinadan had found his companion the perfect sword. It had been a gift to Dinadan not two years into his service. An eastern arms merchant had been traveling to the wall when he was attacked by rogues. Dinadan, being one of Arthur's scouts, before Tristan arrived, had come across the struggle and aided the merchant in fending off the bandits. In return, the merchant bestowed upon Dinadan his most valuable sword. It was forged in the Far East from the finest of materials. It was longer than most swords with a curve to the blade yet it was remarkably light for its size. It was to be the sword of an emperor, but he had died while it was being forged and instead it was cast off and eventually found its way into the hands of the merchant._

_Dinadan had never liked the feel of the sword. It was far too long for him. Dinadan preferred his axe and straight sword over the sleek gracefulness of the curved blade. However, Dinadan knew craftsmanship when he saw it and this blade was the finest wrought that he had ever had the fortune to lay his eyes upon. So, Dinadan had kept it in a chest at the end of his bed because of its beauty and value. It wasn't until he saw the grace with which Tristan moved even in his weakened state that Dinadan had remembered his sword._

_So, when Tristan was deemed strong enough to wield a sword, Dinadan retrieved his precious blade. He had coaxed Tristan out of bed extra early and dragged him onto the wall where they sat for a while before Dinadan could take it no more. "Tristan, you've been here for six months, you've been my friend for six months and though you try not to realize it, you have come to mean a great deal to all of us." Tristan laughed at that with none too little sarcasm. "No, you do. That is why when Arthur said you need a sword, I remembered this," Dinadan continued as he retrieved the saber from near by. Holding it out to Tristan he continued, "It was given to me a long time ago and though I have never used it in battle, it means a great deal to me. Had it not, I would have sold it long ago for it would fetch quite a sum. But I think that maybe I was meant to keep it so that I could give it to you. I know it is long but it is light and it would fit your style perfectly. What do you think of it?" Dinadan was rambling and he knew it. For some reason, Tristan always had that effect on him, perhaps since Tristan spoke so little Dinadan felt the need to speak twice as much. Dinadan was a solid year older than Tristan and treated Tristan as he would a younger brother, but Tristan always seemed to act a little more maturely._

_Tristan looked at the blade he held in his hand without uttering a word. It was very long indeed, but it was light as a feather. It was beautifully crafted and Tristan found himself just taking in its elegance though his face showed none of his emotions._

_"It's alright if you don't like it. I just thought that since you don't have a sword and you really haven't been paid enough to afford one yet, that you might like to use it. I understand if you don't want it…" Dinadan began to ramble again but was cut off by Tristan._

_"My father once had a sword with a curved blade not so much as this one but it had a curve to it. He used to let me hold it, and say that one day it would be mine. He died in a foreign battle with that sword by his side. I never saw either again," Tristan paused trying to find the words in his scattered mind. "It's a beautiful sword and I am honored that you would give it to me," Tristan's tone was emotionless yet contemplative all the same._

"_So you like it?"_

_"Only a fool would not like a gift such as this," Tristan laughed away his friends worry._

_"Well then I am glad that I didn't choose to give it to Lancelot," Dinadan laughed back as he turned to head back to the fort._

_"Where are you going?"_

_"To get my own sword, you'll have to test your new blade, now won't you," Dinadan called over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs. "Meet you in the practice ring in ten minutes!" Tristan sat there for several minutes after Dinadan's departure just admiring his new blade. Dagonet had been on watch and had witnessed the entire scene. He was shocked at the reverence with which Tristan now cradled his gift as though it was the most valuable thing in the world. Shaking his head at the new scout, Dagonet relieved himself of guard duty as he saw the new shift headed for the wall. With one last glance at his future friend Dagonet disappeared into the predawn light. _

Dagonet shook his head at the old memories as he left the stable to get ready for Lamorak's burial.

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Cassia traveled swiftly through the forest carrying only a sack containing her satchel, Tristan's sword, and a loaf of bread. She needed to move quickly in order to stay ahead of the knight who, she had no doubt, would figure out what had happened. Cassia only hoped that she would not face any woads in her hasty travels.

Cassia had traveled through many foreign countries in her struggle to pay the debt that was placed upon her at her husband's death. She had always prided herself on the fact that she could easily blend in with the people from almost any culture. Cassia had never been happy in Rome. She loved the city and her family within it, but she had never before felt the freedom beyond its oppressive walls.

It wasn't until sunset that Cassia stopped moving. Exhausted, she found the nearest clearing where she could make a small campsite. She found a tiny clearing at the edge of a river and immediately unpacked her meager belongings. Within five minutes, Cassia sat on the bank of the river eating her loaf of bread and watching the water pass by. Night was falling quietly, and she could only imagine what was occurring at the fort. She couldn't open her sack to even look at the sword because it made her sick. 'I have ruined so many lives just to salvage my own,' she thought disgustedly as she looked longingly out into the forest. Washing her face with the rushing water, Cassia lay down on the bank of the river to get some rest for the night. As the sun set Cassia reflected on what had brought her to this point.

_Cassia walked up the stairs to her residence in the cheap section of the city. In her one arm was her sister's daughter that she had been watching for the day. Balanced on the crown of her head and held in place by her second hand was a basket containing groceries and wash. As she slowly made her way to her door, the children, from the home below Cassia, ran about her feet playing with each other._

_As she reached her own rooms, Cassia placed the basket down on the bench and carried her niece to her and Marcus' rooms. As she entered the humble room she nearly dropped the poor child, in her state of shock. Marcus lay on the floor in a small puddle of blood. Placing her niece on the bed, Cassia rushed to her husband's side. _

"_Marcus, what happened?" she cried as she helped him into a sitting position. He was coughing up blood as she pulled him to her. _

"_I'll be fine. Just a bit ill, my love," he whispered between hacking. _

"_You're bleeding, how can you say that you are fine?"_

"_I'll be fine," he said as she aided him to the bed._

_Hours later Cassia sat at the table, in the main room of the house, bawling. Her sister sat on the table in front of her with her skirts pulled up so she could sit. In the bedchambers an old healer saw to Marcus_

"_How could this happen? He was fine this morning," Cassia chocked out between sobs and her sister gently rubbed her back in a soothing fashion though she felt nothing akin to compassion for her sister's situation. She was simply there to collect her child._

"_Hush already, will ya? There is no use crying over things you can't change. Decima will take care of him now; there is naught else you can do," spoke her sister indifferently._

"_I know, Livia, but I can't help but feel that this is all my fault. Had I been a better wife or more watchful, or less self involved maybe he wouldn't be ill."_

"_If you are going to continue talking that way, why don't we just blame you for Caesar's death and maybe Nero while we're at it?" Livia deadpanned._

"_Why would I be blamed for Caesar's death, I was not even alive," Cassia cried breaking into a new fit of histerics._

"_Oh will you stop it. I just meant that those scenarios made about as much sense as the one that you thought up. It isn't your fault that he is ill and you know it, so stop feeling sorry for yourself," Livia fumed. "Now I still have chores to do, so I'm leaving. Send word to me if anything changes. And pull yourself together for heaven's sake." With that said Livia stood, collected her daughter, and left the house._

_Once her sister had left, Cassia let her head fall to the table and cried until, Decima, the healer, came to her. "Lady," Decima addressed her._

_Cassia raised her tear streaked face, "Yes?"_

"_There is naught else I can do for him now. He has been ill for a while and I fear that his struggle is almost over," the elderly woman said to her as she gestured to the room that Cassia had dreaded looking at all afternoon._

"_You mean that he…that he is going to…" Cassia broke into yet another fit of sobs as the old healer aided her toward the room._

"_It is best you see him and say your goodbyes. It won't be much longer. I have given him something for the pain so it shall be a peaceful death. Now be strong, for the both of you." With that said the healer pushed Cassia into the room and showed herself out._

_Cassia approached the bed she shared with Marcus as though she were afraid what she might find there. He was deathly pale and the sheets about him were splattered with blood. Upon seeing this Cassia rushed to his side and grasped his larger hand in her smaller ones. She did not know that he was awake until he spoke to her._

"_My beautiful Cassia, I'm sorry. Please forgive me for all I have put you through," Marcus whispered with a strain._

"_There is nothing to forgive, my love. You have always been good to me," she looked up at him through tear stained eyes._

_Wiping away her tears Marcus spoke his last words. "On the table is a letter for you explaining all. Remember I love you always." And his life left him before Cassia could even reply. She lay there with her hand in his until the sun rose and she had to pry her hand out of his dead grip. She retrieved the note as she left the room never to look back._

Cassia lifted that very note out of her pack and reread again as she did every night before she fell asleep. She finished just as the sun had set and lay down to sleep in a disquieted slumber as was her usual.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I just wanted to say Happy Easter to those of you who observe it.


	6. Fears

**Disclaimer: Same as always, don't own it.**

Note: Okay, I am sorry that it took so long to update, but I swear it wasn't my fault. For the past week, this site hasn't allowed me to upload documents so I couldn't update the story. In that time I reworked this chapter a lot, so I hope it explains some things and that you like it. As usual, thank you to those who reviewed. It is greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and Please Review! Let me know what you think.

Chapter 6 Fears

Tristan had been out three days now scouting the territory for Arthur and hunting for his own sword thief. He had left immediately after the funeral of Lamorak. It had been a sad affair as most funerals tend to be, but it became near unbearable when Percival broke down. Percival had always been the rock that Lamorak had leaned against when he needed it. It was disheartening to see him break down now. Tristan had never been overly close with either knight, but he already felt the void grow within himself where yet another brother was missing. As he had watched Percival he felt the strings of his frozen heart pull as he remembered Dinadan's burial.

_It had been an exceptionally frigid morning in Britain as the eleven remaining knights had proceeded to their ever growing graveyard. Men had worked all night digging a grave that was still shallower than the others because the change in weather had frozen the ground solid. Several men had come back in the wee hours of the morning nursing blue fingers just so that another knight could be laid to rest._

_The dismal attitude clung to the knights as they slowly followed the body of they comrade to the crest of the hill. Tristan stood behind the rest of the men for they had known Dinadan far longer than he had. It wasn't until Dagonet guided him over to the group, though, that the ceremony began. Tristan stared blankly at the shrouded body of his closest friend, his only friend. Tristan had only known Dinadan for little over two years, but Dinadan was more than even a brother to Tristan. It was as though Dinadan had become a part of Tristan, and his death had destroyed that part of him forever. As the knights would joke in the years to come, it was Tristan's smile that was buried with Dinadan. Though, that in itself was not entirely true._

_As Tristan watched part of himself buried in the cold earth he couldn't feel a thing. He was numb both inside and out. Then it sprung to mind that this was rather ironic. Tristan slowly remembered the secret Dinadan once told him. "You know what I fear most, Tris," Dinadan said into his ale. "I fear dying in the winter on this bloody island. You know why?" Dinadan paused not really expecting an answer but just draining his mug. "Because if I'm buried in this frozen rock, I'll have nothing to keep me feet warm. In Sarmatia, the summer sun on the steppes would warm my feet, and let me know that life continues. If I'm buried here, for all I know you'll all be dead before spring because the weather never changes. It's always wet and cold. There us nothing I hate more than having cold wet feet!"_

_Tristan didn't realize that he was the only one left in the graveyard as he stood there watching as the village men waited to cover the body. "I never told you this old friend," Tristan said to the air in a whisper, "but what I feared most was losing you. I'd never had a friend before, but that isn't such a surprise I suppose. I just thought that if you died, all of a sudden Arthur would send me back to my old commander. Or that it would be like you never existed and I wouldn't have a sword or skills or my life. But here I am living as ever before and you are lying in the frozen earth. It hardly seems fair. My mother always used to say that our worst fears will find us eventually, and it is how we face them that will determine what kind of man we are._

"_You knew that you faced certain death when you stood in front of that axe. I know that you did it for me. You faced your worst fear so that I might live to face my own. But now I see that losing you is no longer my worst fear. It is now that I fear my death shall not be as noble as your's. That if faced with the same decision as you were, I would cower and save myself instead of another," Tristan said as he stood at the foot of the grave peering over to where Dinadan's feet were. Slowly and carefully, Tristan removed his cloak and folded it. Then, with a smirk to the heavens, he dropped it so that it landed over Dinadan's feet. "Consider it a last favor, old friend. You shall always have warm feet so long as I live."_

As Tristan had left Percival sobbing at his friend's grave, he couldn't help but wonder if this was Percival's greatest fear realized or if it was the idea that no one, even himself, was invincible. Either way, Tristan knew the look Percival wore all too well. It was the look of a man with nothing to live for. Tristan himself had worn it for the past two years. However, Tristan's frozen heart didn't allow him to mourn for his fellow brother because there were other matters at hand. So, he mounted his horse and was gone before the hole was filled.

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This was the fifth time in as many minutes that he readjusted the sword on his back. It frustrated Tristan to no end that he had to buy, with his own wages, a new sword. This sword was a testament to his poor wages. It was too short, too straight, too weak, and too showy. 'What good is a fancy looking sword if it is going to break if I try hitting something with it?' Tristan cursed as it jabbed him in the lower back yet again. For the second time in days, Tristan let his usually nonexistent temper get the better of him. Tearing the sword from his back he threw it as far as he could which wasn't very far in the dense foliage. 'Six months wages wasted on a useless scrap of metal,' the scout cursed to himself.

Had the scout been less focused on his sword and more on the path ahead of him he might not have suffered the embarrassment of what happened next. Still cursing every God, man, and animal on the island Tristan didn't notice the branch hanging in his path. Before he knew what hit him, Tristan was laying face down in the dirt as his horse continued on. Turning over so he could lean on his elbows, Tristan whistled to he dappled steed. The horse stopped immediately and turned its head back to look at its master. If Tristan didn't know any better, he would have thought that his own horse was laughing at him at that moment.

Pushing himself up and out of the mud, Tristan went to remount his horse after unleashing quite a string of curses in his native tongue that very well may have made Bors blush. Now, had Tristan not fallen from his steed he may never have come across the prints that he noticed as he mounted. Immediately Tristan began to follow the worn tracks. Several hours later, Tristan found the owner of these tracks. However, she was in the middle of a rather large if not terrifying group of Woads. She was sitting tied up with a satchel on her lap. Her long brown curls effectively covering her face completely. Tristan could see bruises forming on her bare arms which were tied at an uncomfortable angle behind her back.

She seemed rather resigned to her fate as a large Woad came over and kicked her, motioning for her to stand up. Tristan was not a chivalrous man nor did he truly care for anything other than himself, his weapons, and his animals, but he refused to stand by and watch them torture an innocent woman. If he only knew who she was at that moment, Tristan might have felt quite different.

There were fifteen Woads in all, a small hunting or scouting party. It wouldn't be too hard to take them. Tristan notched and arrow and aimed it at the Woad holding the woman. He let it go, flying straight into the man's chest, before he quickly notched another and repeated the process. After killing several Woads with his bow, Tristan's bloodlust won out and he showed himself, ready for a fight. As the Woads approached him, Tristan reached for his sword only to remember that it was lying somewhere in the middle of the forest and would be of no help to him.

Moving quickly, Tristan retrieved the two sickles that he had carried ever since the loss of his saber. They were not his weapons of choice, but he was proficient in their use and it was better than fighting with his fists. As the first Woad reached him, Tristan quickly raised his first sickle to block a spear and reached with the second to slit the man's throat. The second Woad saw the loss of a hand before he too swiftly met his end.

Tristan poured all of his anger from the last few days into his fighting and in turn he fought as though possessed by the devil himself. Not one Woad was spared a painful death. Tristan sustained several cuts and bruises as he fought but nothing serious until an arrow flew straight into his right shoulder. Dropping the weapon in his right hand Tristan tried to continue, but sickles are rather useless against many enemies without their twin or another weapon. Two Woads came at him at once as well as another arrow. This one hit his calf bringing the scout to one knee.

Cassia looked up from where she had been dropped over to where the blue demons were fighting an unknown warrior. Cassia could barely see for one of her eyes was swollen shut and the other was doing little better. However, she was not so blind as to miss the fact that her savior was now losing not only quite a bit of blood from his two arrow wounds but the battle he had chosen for himself. She also realized that if he lost his battle she would not be freed from these savages and in turn would probably die as well.

_ Dearest love, _

_I am sorry that I never told you that I was ill. The healers said I should recover and that there was nothing to worry about, so I didn't want to worry you. You've been through so much, for my sake, as it is. But here I am in my final hour regretting all that I've put you through. I know that I was neither the best husband nor the most attentive, but I did love you with my entire heart and being. I should have said it more often, but I don't have the time to right all of my wrongs. So remember this always. I have loved you since the day I first lay eyes upon you, and I shall continue loving you till the end of time whether that be in the fires of Hades or the tranquility of your Heaven. Never forget that._

_I spent all of my time trying to protect you from the world and the cruel people in it because of this I didn't spend time with you. I didn't realize that my love for you would end up hurting you because I wouldn't be there when you needed me most._

_Finally, the part I wish I could leave out of this letter, for it tears at my heart even to think of it. You know as well as I that they shall come for my debt. My death means nothing to them so long as they get what is owed them. All that I have saved is in the urn my mother gave us on our wedding day. It is barely half of what I owe them. I am not fool enough to say run away with that money because they would surely hunt you down and kill you for it. I was raised a Roman, heart and soul. What I was taught to fear most would be to die without honor. But that is what I shall do. I have no right to ask this of you, my love, but I have no other to ask. Will you see my debts though? Will you see that my worst fears are not realized?_

_I am a prideful man, but I now realize that I do not have a right to neither pride nor honor if I must asked my widow to make amends for my foolishness. I am sorry that you married a fool. I am sorry that I failed you. I am sorry that I lied to you. I am sorry that I have constantly laid my burdens upon your shoulders. Most of all, I am sorry that I must leave you so soon and never again lay my eyes on you gentle smile or weave my fingers through your hair. But I am not sorry that I loved you._

_I hope that one day you will be free of my sins and live. Live for me, for us, for the time we had and shall have again in the next life._

_ With eternal love,_

_ Marcus_

_Cassia closed the letter that her husband had penned in his last hours of life and placed it in the bodice of her dress right above her heart as she went lay down to sleep. Cassia had never been a useful woman. She could neither cook nor mend anything more than a simple tear. Cassia was only good at two things. She could wash clothes and pick decent fruit neither of which were uncommon talents. Even her mother thought her useless and sent her to work at Lady Lucia's estate because she feared she would never be able to marry her daughter off. _

_It was not until Cassia met Marcus that some one said to her that she was good. He was the only person that said that she was worth more than the burden it was to keep her. When Marcus asked to marry Cassia she vowed that she would show him that she was indeed good. She vowed that she would do anything that he asked of her not matter how impossible the task or how little skill she possessed. His final wish was for her aid, and she was not going to deny him in death what she would not have in life. Every night she struggled with her conscience over what her vow had led her too, but in reading Marcus' tender words her heart was given a semblance of peace. The only fear she still possessed was that she would not be able to complete what she had started and Marcus would remain dishonored._

_She had not been unconscious for more than an hour when they had arrived. The Woads had surrounded her as she slept and tied her up before she even woke. The leader of the group kicked her in the stomach to rouse her. Cassia cried out at the pain that shot through her abdomen and sat up immediately, just in time to come face to face with a spear._

_"Oh God," was all that she could bring her self to say as she was hauled to her feet and nearly dragged along with the blue demons. They spoke not a word to her as they traveled along the river's edge to a clearing not an hour away. Once they arrived, Cassia was beaten as the leader yelled things in a foreign tongue at her. They tore at her clothes and hair. Then all of a sudden it stopped and they went about making a camp. Cassia sat alone against a tree in the cold night praying that she might fulfill her vow before she joined her husband, but with each passing hour her greatest fear loomed closer._

Cassia was roused from her thoughts as she heard a stifled scream of from her savoir as an arrow penetrated his shoulder. Seeing as she had already stolen the sword that would give her, her freedom, Cassia was none too fond about dying now. So mustering all of the courage and strength that she had left, Cassia rose from the ground, mind you, rather awkwardly being that her arms were behind her back. Once standing, Cassia spotted the archer who was enjoying the sport of attacking an already outnumbered man. Doing the only thing in her power, Cassia charged him, knocking him over before he could continue his sick game. As she tumbled to the ground on top of the Woad archer, Cassia realized that she had no way of killing the man or knocking him out. No sooner had she hit the ground than Cassia was flipped under the Woad.

Wishing that she had just run for her life instead of getting involved, she winced as the Woad brought a knife to her throat. 'Oh joy, so much for a dramatic death in arms of the one I love or suicide over my lover's body. No I get to die under a smelly man painted blue. Where did my life go so wrong,' Cassia thought to herself as she felt the knife pressing into her throat.

Tristan had seen the woman tackle the archer, and was well aware of her current position which was about as promising as his own. Though only three woads remained standing before him, Tristan was already aware that he was loosing too much blood and even if he did win this, he probably was not going to survive his wounds without a proficient healer. Making a very quick and rather foolish decision, Tristan threw his last sickle at the Woad attacking the captive girl. Surprisingly the blade struck the Woad in the back. It wouldn't kill that man immediately but it would distract him till he bled to death.

As soon as the blade hit, Cassia was freed from her attacker as he rolled about in pain as his lungs filled with blood. Glancing back at her savoir, as she now referred to him, Cassia saw him fall. Cassia did the only thing she could think of which was rather pathetic the more she thought about it. She screamed at the top of her lungs, not a dignified shout or dainty squeal, but a pathetic high pitched ear piercing wail, that would have put an banshee to shame, which gathered the attention of the three Woads immediately. Once again not having a plan other than what she had just done Cassia realized that this too had been foolish as one of the Woads approached her. 'Oh bollocks! I give up! I have a death wish and deserve whatever I get,' Cassia thought sarcastically as she watched the approaching Woad.

Tristan cursed the girl's scream beneath his breath; he had hoped that she would have run instead of drawing attention to herself. Once again Tristan's efforts were wasted among the incompetent. However, her scream did give him the chance to retrieve his hidden daggers and attack the final Woads with all that was left of his strength. Tristan managed to kill the last two Woads and implant one of his daggers in the back of the third before he could reach the girl.

Cassia watched as her savoir rose to his feet very unsteadily. He was covered in blood from head to toe, much of it his own. Seeing him waver, Cassia got to her feet, rather awkwardly, and ran to him. He reached out and cut her bindings as he began to fall. Cassia managed to catch him and ease him onto the ground. As she took a closer look at him she nearly fainted. Though he eyes were nearly blinded from the swelling, there was no mistake who this was. Before her lay none other than Tristan, Arthur's most ferocious knight, wavering on the brink of death. In that moment, Cassia realized two very disheartening things. First, she was the reason that Tristan was in this predicament because she had stolen his sword. If he had had it, he would have dispatched them all easily. Secondly, she was bound by debt to help him now for he had risked his life for her. However, if she did manage to save him she was as good as dead.

I hope that this chapter wasn't too confusing and I promise I will update much faster than last time!


	7. Healing

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it and seriously doubt that I ever will.**

AN: Thank you to my reviewers and everyone who continues to follow the story. I hope that this chapter doesn't confuse anyone, but all will be explained later. So please Read & Review!

**Update**: Okay, First off, I am a fool because I uploaded this last night when I was barely coherent. I reread this chapter several times thinking that something was wrong, but it wasn't until today that I realized what it was when I went to write one of the further chapters. I had originally used the name Seraphina for Tristan's lover, but then I was like "oh wait, I want it to be Isolde," so I changed in the later chapters, but forgot to change it in this chapter so I simply uploaded it again with Seraphina's name changed to Isolde so don't worry, you didn't miss anything. This was basically for future reference, so everyone doesn't go, "huh?"

Chapter 7 Healing

"You taunt me," Cassia shouted to the heavens as she sat on the blood laden earth with the scout sprawled across her lap just adding to the mess. "What have I done to incur such misfortune? What has made me the harbinger of death to all around me, be they friend or foe," she continued to inquire not caring if she were to meet the wrath of the gods. Still staring up at the sky, Cassia realized that the rains were coming as was so typical of Britain.

Looking down at the barely living knight before her Cassia continued in a normal tone. "I believe, they are laughing at us," she said dryly as she began to take in the scout's appearance. "Well, I suppose that we are to depend on each other because I would not be alive had it not been for you and you shall not survive the night if not for me." With that said, Cassia moved quickly from beneath Tristan to retrieve her satchel and sack near by.

Laying out her own cloak since it seemed much cleaner than the scout's, Cassia attempted to drag Tristan to it. Once she had placed him on the makeshift blanket, Cassia remove his cloak from his body and hung it over head hoping that it would keep out the coming rain. After their accommodations were prepared Cassia looked the scout over quickly. He had many wounds and the fact that he was suspiciously muddy was mildly disconcerting. Digging into her satchel Cassia pulled out her healing kit. It was rather rudimentary just containing simple bandages and herbs, but it would have to do. Cassia was ever grateful that she had been captured at the edge of a river and that they had not moved from it because the water source was probably the only thing on their side.

Taking one of the Woads' simple clay bowls, Cassia filled it with stream water and put it over one of the few still burning campfires. She then moved back to Tristan and with great precision and haste she removed any clothing that would get in the way. As soon as the water began to boil, Cassia took some of the cloth from her kit and started washing the scout's wounds. Once the scout's body had been cleaned of any dirt that might lead to infection and the bleeding was slowed considerably, Cassia began to clean and stitch his deeper wounds. It was tedious work especially for one such as Cassia who had never been a true proficient in sewing clothing never mind flesh. However, necessity makes of us what we never would have thought possible. There were several deep gashes across his stomach and chest as well as his back. Each one took a great deal of energy to mend because Cassia had to use excessive care just to prevent stabbing him or herself with the needle. Cassia ignored the pain in her own body as she worked even though she could barely see what she was doing. Carefully Cassia tied off the final stitch on Tristan's chest.

She had managed to staunch most of the bleeding and it seemed as though the scout's breathing had evened, though those breaths were few and far between. Cassia was soon moving on to the arrow wounds. The arrow shafts had been snapped during the battle (if you could even call it that) and she feared that they would not be easily removed. She was grateful that they had not hit anything vital, but she still feared that they would be the most likely to become infected.

Quickly retrieving the small knife from her pack, used for cutting herbs, Cassia began to clean the blade. She held it above the fire until it glowed red then placed it in the clean water to cool. As soon as it was ready Cassia began trying to remove the arrow from Tristan's calf. It seemed as though it would be the easier of the two since it had gone straight through the leg. It was a nasty wound that had to have pierced the muscle, but he would recover if it didn't become infected. Cassia quickly cut herself two lengths of cloth before she pushed the shaft out of his leg which gave an involuntary jerk. She threw the shaft to the ground and pressed a cloth to either side of his leg in order to stop the renewed flow. It took her several minutes to slow the blood enough to wrap the leg before she moved to the second arrow wound. This one she had to actually cut out of his back. She looked at it for a good long time before gathering the courage to do the task. It was the most unpleasant thing Cassia could ever imagine doing until she realized that she would have to cauterize the wounds.

Lifting her small knife to the fire, once again, Cassia waited until it glowed red. Moving back to the scout Cassia decided to take the more dangerous wound first and pressed the red blade to his back. She closed her eyes as she did so and tried not to breath, but it was no use because she could hear it and that was enough to turn her stomach. Within seconds the unconscious knight was wide awake and screaming in sheer pain. Cassia was sick to her stomach at both the smell and sound of what she had to do. She feared his writhing would open his other wounds, so she immediately removed the blade. Both were panting hard afterwards and neither seemed aware of their surroundings. Cassia awoke from her confusion upon realizing that the scout was indeed conscious.

Moving him onto his side, Cassia began to speak hoping that he would understand her. "I removed the arrows and have to cauterize it. If I don't, you will surely die." Even in Cassia's near blind state due to her swollen face, she could not help but see the rich liquid gold eyes watching her.

Tristan had awoken to screaming pain in his back and lesser pain all over his body. He had thought himself so close to death, but was obviously wrong since death could never be this painful. After a moment the blazing pain ceased and was replaced by a duller but still agonizing pain in his shoulder and the rest of his body as well. He was then confronted by the image of what must have been an angel, before him. In his current state Tristan failed to pick up on the obvious bruising about her features and was instead mesmerized by her apparent halo of honey brown curls.

When she spoke to him in her native Latin, he thought he had never heard anything so beautiful. 'I must be further gone than I thought. I'm becoming sentimental,' Tristan thought wryly as she moved a piece of his hair away from his face.

Tristan's gaze was becoming a bit disconcerting to Cassia. 'Why does he keep staring like that? Maybe he recognizes me. Either that or he was struck on the head during the fight. Stupid men, at least he isn't staring at my chest,' Cassia thought as she moved his hair out of his face. "Sir, I have to finish cauterizing your wound. Do you understand," she asked slowly as to insure that he understood her.

Tristan slowly nodded and Cassia returned the blade to the flame before applying it to his calf wound on either side. This time Tristan did not call out or even move more than the initial flinch. When she was finished Cassia cleaned the wounds once more before finishing her stitches and wrappings. By the time she was finished with the entire process, Tristan was once again unconscious dreaming about another angel.

_Tristan was in the infirmary of the fort he had served in before Hadrian's Wall. It was a smaller fort in the southern portion of Britain, but its size was compensated by the harshness of the Roman's living there. This was not the first time Tristan had been beaten for little more than breathing the wrong way. This time it had been nothing formal like getting flogged, but instead the Romans had just beaten him with their fist or wooden practice swords until he could barely move. _

_Now, Tristan lay on a small cot waiting for the only healer in the fort to arrive. She, herself, was well along with child and was not moving as fast as she was used to. She strode into the healing quarters with her purposeful stride that even the waddle of pregnancy could not overshadow. Before Tristan had a chance to open his swollen eyes, she spoke, "Filthy Romans, when are they going to realize beating men within an inch of their life is not going to help anything?" Tristan's eyes opened to slits so he could look at his only friend in the entire fort and possibly the country. _

_"Isolde," Tristan rasped as he took in her appearance. She was simply in a shift covered by a long cloak that looked suspiciously like one of Tristan's. Her long blood red curls hung loose around her face as she leaned over him and brushed his fringe out of his face. She was the most beautiful woman Tristan had ever laid eyes upon and she was his. _

_  
"Yes, I'm here. You know I'm just bout ready to burst and can barely stand up without help, and here you are causing more trouble for me," she admonished in fake seriousness. "Can you sit up because I can't lean over without falling over," she sighed as she began to assess his injuries. Tristan slowly sat up and allowed her to remove his tunic to assess the damage. Isolde had had to save his life on numerous occasions, mostly due to his commander's cruelty. They had become the best of friends over Tristan's six years at the fort. He was the only Sarmatian still alive at the fort, so he often turned to her for companionship because he was loath to find it in a Roman. _

_When she had been attacked several months back and become with child Tristan had taken it upon himself to protect her since she had no one else. No one touched her anymore, but they tortured Tristan for his alliance. This was the third time in as many months that he had been beaten by his own unit. Tristan took it without a complaint, but Isolde couldn't bear to see him in such a state. He had never been treated well by his commander, but never before had it been this bad._

_She quickly bound Tristan's ribs and applied salve to his wounds before looking into his eyes again. "You'll survive but not if this continues. This is the third time you have bruised or broken those two ribs. Pretty soon they won't heal right anymore. I can have you transferred to another fort, Gaius owes me a favor anyway," Isolde said in concern._

_Tristan took her face into his hands and stroked her cheeks while replying, "I would not have you waste any favors on me. If I am gone, who will watch over you? I will not leave you to these dogs, Sera."_

"_Nor will I leave you to them. But if you are dead, how will you help me then?" _

_Tristan just smiled at her before leaning forward and kissing her gently. As he pulled back he stated, "I shall not leave you. You will need someone to look after that child when you are here and I will need someone to look after me when I am here. It may not be my child, but it is yours and I will love it as I love you." He kissed her again before slowly standing and redressing._

"_Tristan, will you take me to the ocean," she sighed as she gazed out the window toward the direction of the sea. Unconsciously rubbing her swollen belly, she looked at him imploringly. _

"_Wench, you are ready to burst. You are not going anywhere," he said sternly as he walked to her. "Why do you wish to go there anyway?"_

"_If I die bringing this child into the world, I would hate it if I never got to see the ocean again. To never get to hunt shells along the shoreline again, it would be terrible. I could bear dying so long as I got to see the ocean again and know my child would be okay, of course," she said wistfully. "Anyway, you never bring me anymore."_

"_You are not going to die, love, but if you wish to see the ocean I shall not deny you. We shall leave at dawn," Tristan gave in as he hugged her tight following her gaze to the sea._

_Isolde and Tristan sat on a large boulder just staring at the ocean as the sun shone overhead. It had taken most of the morning to walk to the shore because Tristan refused to let her on a horse in her state, not to mention his ribs were still in great pain. They now lay silently in each other's arms enjoying the smell of the salt air and the gentleness of the breeze._

_Tristan had long since fallen asleep, and Isolde was feeling mischievous. She deftly slipped from his arms and off the rock to the water. She waded into the frigid water a ways before feeling a sharp pain in her foot. She had found what she wanted at a small expense to her large toe. Deftly reaching into the water she lifted out a large crab by its back so that it could not catch her again. Returning to the shore Isolde quickly approached Tristan's sleeping form. She knew that she shouldn't do this because he was injured, but she couldn't resist the temptation as she placed the angry crab on her lover's chest._

"_Tristan, love, won't you join me by the water," she called from a safe distance again. _

_Immediately Tristan was awake at the sound of her voice. He opened his eyes only to come face to face with a very grouchy crab. "What the…" Tristan said with uncharacteristic emotion as he scrambled to get the creature off himself. The crab was having none of it as it attached itself to his tunic with one claw and his longest braid with the other. Isolde could not help but laugh as the normally silent scout shouted to get a small crab off of him. "Wench, you will pay for this when… ouch," he shouted as his hand was bitten in removing the poor creature from his hair. _

_Isolde took pity on her lover and stepped in front of him. "Come on," she said pulling him over to the water. Once standing over the water itself the crab immediately detached itself and got away as fast as it could. "Is that better," she asked as she pulled the very same braid that the crab had been attached to._

"_Why do I put up with you," Tristan sighed in exasperation as he turned and walked back to the rock. Isolde followed him in silence knowing very well that he was angry with her. Normally, he would have laughed the prank off and kissed her or thrown her into the water, but today he was in a foul mood. She just sat with Tristan as he lay down and turned away from her. _

"_What is wrong," she asked in a whisper._

"_Leave me to sleep wench."_

"_You don't call me wench unless you are angry, so out with it," she said seriously. Tristan didn't reply, so Isolde left him to brood. She once again ventured to the water's edge. She walked along the shoreline looking for pretty enough shells to make a necklace with. She walked for nearly an hour and was thoroughly exhausted as she sat on the pebbly shore so that the water could cover her feet when a wave came. She had collected several shells, but something glowing in the water caught her eye. She slowly and awkwardly stood and went to the edge to see what it was. Isolde couldn't bend over to retrieve the shell because she was so tired and her belly wouldn't allow it anymore. She nearly cried when she realize it was one of the most beautiful shells she had ever seen._

_Tristan had been sprinting down the beach for nearly a half an hour, with two bruised ribs, because Isolde had never returned from her walk and the sun was beginning to set. He could barely breathe when he saw a figure up ahead sitting near the water. Tristan fell to his knees when he reached a sobbing Isolde. He immediately forgot his anger and took her into his arms. "What is wrong? Why didn't you return to me," he rasped as he tried to catch his breath with his bruised ribs._

"_I couldn't reach it," she pointed to the spot where the shell glowed beneath the water. Tristan nearly laughed when he heard her. He silently stood and retrieved the shell that she had pointed to._

"_All this trouble for a silly shell," he said as he placed it in her lap. Isolde's tearful eyes lit up as she looked at him with adoration. Tristan gave her an uncommon smile and pulled her to her feet_

"_It's not a silly shell. It is the most beautiful shell that I've ever seen," she said as he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. "I want you to have it," she pressed it to his chest and she wrapped her arms around him._

"_Why?"_

"_Because it is the most perfect shell I have ever found, and you are the most perfect man I have ever met."_

"_I am far from perfect," Tristan said but quickly added, "but I will take this shell with me where ever I go because it is of you." Tristan knew that Isolde had sensed his anger before and he was sorry that he had upset her even if she wouldn't admit it. He loved the fiery Briton that walked next to him more than life itself. He only wished that like the shell he would be able to bring Sera with him everywhere he went. They continued to walk in comfortable silence as they watched the sun set over the ocean in magnificent hues of mauve, orange, and red._

Tristan continued to have dreams of his former lover as a fever took him. Not all of the memories were as pleasant as the first, but just seeing her face again was a comfort to the unconscious scout as he struggled to survive.

Okay, I know this chapter seems to go off on its on little tangent but will make sense later on just bear with me. Tell me what you think good or bad, I like to hear it!


	8. Return to Thee

**Disclaimer: Don't own it!**

AN: As usual, thank you to those who took the time to review, it is greatly appreciated!

Chapter 8 Return to Thee

In her efforts to save Tristan, Cassia had neglected her own wounds. After covering the scout with several blanks she had retrieved from his wandering horse, which was a small battle within itself, she began to see to her own needs. Her face was in a great deal of pain and she knew that if she did not stop the swelling soon she would be entirely too blind to aid either herself or the scout. So she began to mix herbs to stop the swelling in her limbs and face. It took very little time to tend her own needs for she had been doing so ever since she had set out on her little journey to pay her husband's debts.

Once finished Cassia cleaned the camp area and packed all that would be needed into her sack. She knew that they would not be safe there for long because the Woads would find them once again, so she was ready to move at a moments notice.

Going through the scout's packs, Cassia found some hard tack and a wine skin. She took the meager rations and fed herself before leaving the clearing to find some herbs and berries to boil for Tristan when he woke. She knew it was only a matter of time before a fever set in, she had seen it happen before. She only hoped that she would be prepared enough to see him through it. Cassia didn't stray far in her search for the supplies, and was back as soon as she found what she was looking for. Placing what she had just retrieved in a small pot, Cassia began to boil the soupy mixture. All she could do now was to wait.

It was the middle of the night before Tristan became feverish, he had been mumbling names in his sleep for hours, but now he was thrashing just slightly. Cassia had changed his dressings not much earlier and had been dozing by the stream. As soon as she heard his unrest she was immediately awake again. Fetching a basin of cool water from the stream, she moved quickly to the scout's side. Gently, with the care of a mother to her child, Cassia wiped his sweat soaked brow. Cassia sat for hours with the unconscious scout as he battled the fever and memories within himself. She held him down as he writhed and even dragged him down to the stream when his fever began to rise higher. Holding the scout in a very awkward position as to do no more harm to any of his injuries, Cassia brought him into the shallow water. Being spring, the stream was still frigid forcing Cassia to abandon her attempts rather quickly. After dragging the scout, rather unceremoniously, back to the fire, Cassia redressed his wounds once again to prevent any further infection or fever.

All through the night, Cassia fought the fever with herbs that she could barely force down his throat, and bathing him with cold stream water. By morning, Cassia was all but ready to give up hope. Tristan wouldn't last much longer if the fever didn't break, and Cassia was no healer to give him the proper attention he needed. By noon Cassia was exhausted and on the verge of tears. She knew that they should be leaving their makeshift camp, but Tristan was in no condition to travel. She knew that if she valued her own life she should let him die, but she couldn't.

"Why do you have to be so good? I would have had no problem leaving my other victims behind. I've stolen from plenty of people who weren't worth the scum off my sandals, but I've never stolen from someone honorable," she choked out. "That was until you," it came in almost a whisper as she began to cry. "You had to be a knight. You had to be lonely. You had to be… self-sacrificing!" she yelled at his unconscious form now. "I may have little honor of my own left, but not so little as to abandon the only respectable person I've met in the past three years and possibly my entire life. I wish I could just leave you here to die or maybe I wish I didn't feel because then I would not feel the guilt that tears me apart for all the wrong I've done you."

Cassia didn't know how long she had been crying at the scout's side, and she frankly didn't care. She had been so close to freedom and yet would most likely die in this forest with a man she had stolen everything from, primarily his life. Cassia didn't even realize it when Tristan woke.

He could hear sobbing coming from above him, but couldn't place whose sobs they were. 'Maybe I died and they are sobbing over my grave,' Tristan thought warily, but quickly shot that down, 'that can't be true, the entire fort fears me. No one would cry at my funeral even if they were paid to do so by Arthur.' Slowly and with great effort, Tristan opened his heavy eyelids. Turning his head toward the sound of sobbing, he saw that same halo of honey brown curls from the night before. 'Then again, maybe I am dead.' He watched her sob for several minutes before his patience wore thin and he could take no more.

"Stop your crying woman, 'tis not the end of the world," Tristan choked out in a voice raspier and more thickly accented than usual. The girl, no, woman's head snapped up at his words. She immediately put a quivering hand to his brow before saying a word.

"Your fever broke," she said as if it were the most unbelievable thing she had ever heard, as silent tears continued to fall from her eyes. "But you were so near death, I feared you wouldn't wake. Oh God, you're awake!" she said as she leaned over and hugged him as though he was the only thing keeping her from falling off the face of the earth.

"I'm awake, now stop your crying," Tristan said flatly though his voice was rough and worn. Hearing the cracks in his voice, Cassia immediately fetched a cup of the soup she had brewed.

"Here, drink this. It will help you recover faster, and it will help with the pain," she said as she lifted his head off the ground so he could sip the brew. As if on cue when she spoke of pain, Tristan became acutely aware of all of the wounds on this body. It felt as if he had fallen off of Hadrian's Wall and broken every bone in his body. Tristan even had a high tolerance for pain and this was still excruciating. Though, he did manage to sip a bit of the brew before choking. It tasted rather pleasant considering it was used for healing. Most of the brews Dagonet would make him drink made Tristan question if possible death was actually more appealing than the remedy.

Cassia slowly lowered his head to the ground once again and bathed his forehead with a wet cloth to remove the thick coat of perspiration that had gathered there. She was as gentle as a summer breeze as she carefully checked each of his wounds. Tristan was barely coherent once the drink had begun to work. It had relieved a great deal of the pain and it was making him drowsier by the minute. Before he knew it, Tristan had lapsed into a healing sleep.

Once all his wounds were in good order, Cassia bathed in the flowing river. Even though the water was frigid, Cassia felt refreshed and rejuvenated by its cleansing quality. Once finished with her own bath, Cassia used a length of cloth to bath Tristan as well. In her state of relief at finding him on the mend, Cassia took a moment to truly look at the man before her. For six months she had studied his home, his habits, and his weaknesses, but she had never studied him, the person. He was tall, taller than Marcus had been and more finely muscled. There was no bulk to Tristan, just sleek yet powerful muscle almost like a cat. He had many scars marring his torso and arms, but most were faded beyond recognition.

Yet what struck her most about him was his face. She had never really gotten a good look at his face before. She had always just assumed it to be as cold and heartless as the rest of him, but now looking at it for real she saw none of that. Behind the veil of braids and tattoos, his face looked almost gentle though rather sad. Though his features were harshly sculpted, they were not unattractive. In sleep, she could almost forget his reputation and see a tender creature before her. One that needed to cover his face because if he didn't either the world would see that he wasn't such a murderer or he would truly have too become the monster they claimed him to be.

Gently moving the hair out of his face one last time Cassia stood and walked to the edge of the water. She couldn't look at him anymore without hating herself. She had stolen from many men in the past four years. She had even stolen from a bishop without remorse, but this was different. All of the previous men had not been worth what she had stolen from them. Most were thieves themselves, others were greedy men, and others still were murderers or defilers. She never condoned what she did, but Cassia had never before questioned it.

In Cassia's eyes, Tristan had done nothing to warrant her pilfering his sword. He was a good knight always doing as he was told. He had a bloodlust that was legendary, but no more so than would be expected from a man that often had to ride out alone and face an enemy far more numerous than himself. He was loyal to his commander almost to a fault. Tristan owned very little by way of possessions but took care of each item with love and care. Tristan rarely took up with the whores such as most of the other knights. Cassia could not for the life of her come up with one good reason for stealing the sword that he loved, quite possibly, more than his own life.

Tears once again found their way to her eyes as Cassia realized that her mission to keep her husband's honor intact, by paying his final debt, was stripping her of the only bit of honor she possessed. Cassia made up her mind to return Tristan's sword to him and face the consequences. She had spent four years of her life paying off a debt that wasn't her own, if she was meant never to be free of it then so be it. She had lived in servitude before she could do it again.

Returning to Tristan's side she kept vigil over him as his fever rose and fell throughout the next four nights. He would wake only briefly, just long enough for her to make him drink some broth or for him to relieve himself. She barely slept in those several days and when she did her dreams were filled with memories of the past.

_Cassia stood before her husband's grave weeping as his body was covered in fresh earth. They had been married six years yet it seemed too short a time to truly get to know a person. Already her memories of him were fading. She remembered his eyes and his smile and his slightly crooked nose, but she could not put them all together to make his face. Although that could be do to the fact that she knew if she did see his face, if only in her mind, she would never be able to continue on._

_The day itself was beautiful. Birds sung gaily in the fading sun. The summer breeze blew through Cassia's long brown hair so that it danced in the air creating almost a halo around her bowed head. A man, much older than herself, moved behind her. _

"_Lady Cassia," he said gently in his rumbling bass._

"_Not lady sir, I was once but a slave, never a lady," she said as silent tears rolled down her porcelain cheeks._

"_Then, Cassia you must be told that your husband was…"_

"_If you are going to tell me about his debt," Cassia said, turning to him, with a newfound coldness to her once angelic voice, "I already know. He felt no need to lie to me as you most likely did to him"_

"_Then you realize that this debt falls to you as his only living relative."_

"_You come to my husband's grave to tell me that I am in your debt for something I had no part in?" Cassia's eyes attested volumes as to the anger that she felt._

"_I know that Marcus was a man of honor, I wanted to make sure that you wouldn't condemn him to hell by not paying his debts and disgracing him," the man said walking away. Cassia stood there realizing her position and her promise to her husband. She had to pay his debt._

Cassia woke long before Apollo graced the sky with the sun. She could still hear the old man's words, but she no longer could see the grave before her. 'Who was he to judge honor anyway, crusty old man! If he had been honorable in the least, he would not have condemned a widow at her husband's grave,' she thought grumpily at waking so early. Seeing that sleep was not to return and that she had other duties, Cassia rose silently to check that Tristan was well. Placing a gentle hand to his forehead, Cassia was relieved to feel that his brow was cool. His wounds were healing well and she had removed the stitches the previous night. Satisfied with the scout's condition, Cassia decided that it was time to disappear and hope that he wouldn't follow her. Cassia cooked a meager ration of porridge with her few remaining supplies, knowing that the scout would need some solids if he were to make it back to the fort.

When she was finished, she went to her sack found her parchment and ink. She quickly scrawled a note to the knight that she had tended for the past week and tied it to his sword which she retrieved from her sack. Placing the blade near his stallion, Cassia took one last look at their piece of solitude and disappeared into the forest.

So what to you think of Cassia? Like her, dislike her, sympathize with her? What do you think Tristan will do when he finds out that she was the one that stole his sword? Tell me what you think. Please Review! It's what keeps me writing.


	9. The Return

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize from the movie or legends.**

Note: Thank you to all who reviewed, I really appriciate it. I love hearing your ideas and how close you are to where I want to go with this. I'm sorry I haven't answered any reviews lately, but since the site hasn't sent me any notices in a while I figured that no one was getting them. Please Read and Review!

Chapter 9 The Return

Tristan woke to the singing of birds and a throbbing pain in his back. He was feeling stronger than he had the last time he had woken and felt he could actually move, even with the pain. Even before opening his eyes, Tristan immediately knew he was alone. Something about the air and the birds made the surroundings feel devoid of all human life, for he had long since called himself 'human.' Testing his limbs Tristan felt he would be able to sit up by his own accord without the mysterious lady's assistance which was a good thing because she was not there to aid him if he wasn't.

Opening his eyes and sitting up, Tristan took in the small camp she had made for them. There was a small fire still hanging onto its last whispers of flame next to where Tristan lay. Beyond that he could still see a stain in the mud, from his own blood, where he had fallen. He truly didn't know how she had managed to drag him to this spot. Behind him was the river he had followed here and beyond it was the wall, though a great distance away.

On the fire was a small pot with gruel bubbling in it. 'She couldn't have left long ago,' Tristan thought to himself as he reached for the pot. He ate it slowly because his stomach was no longer used to thick food having only taken in liquids for the past week. Tristan had never been a fan of such food, but his own limbs were starting to look good enough to eat after such a stretch without any real food. Though the lady's brews were not unpleasant, they could never take the place of real meals.

Once finished with his meal, Tristan decided to test his mobility. He knew his muscles could not completely be weakened after his long absence from consciousness because several times he had woken to her stretching his arms and legs so as not to lose their strength. Looking at himself, Tristan noticed that his entire chest was swathed in bandages as well as one of his legs, which was no longer covered by his pants since she seemed to have cut half of the pant leg off to reach his wounds. He was silently grateful that she had not decided to take his breeches off entirely because in his hast to leave the fort he had only brought one extra shirt and no spare breeches.

Slowly Tristan rose, having to use a tree for support, to his feet and hobbled very ungracefully to where his horse stood grazing. By the time he took the ten paces to his steed, Tristan was out of breath. Holding onto his horse's saddle Tristan began to stroke the beast's neck. "Hey, did she saddle you for me?" Tristan asked the creature gently. "Where did she go, eh?" The horse just bobbed his head and neighed at Tristan as if to say he didn't know. Tristan just laughed but soon began to cough. "The Woads sure did a number on me this time. If it weren't for her, I probably wouldn't be alive." His horse turned to him at that, moving away from Tristan's grasp to face him as though he understood. This caused Tristan to fall to his knees because he had become completely dependent on his horse to remain standing.

With a grunt Tristan hit the ground next to his saddle bags which the woman hadn't placed on the steed. Beneath them, something familiar caught Tristan's eye. "But it can be," Tristan whispered to the wind. Pushing his bags aside, Tristan saw what he had come to believe was lost forever. Before him lay his curved sword, scabbard and all. To it was tied a piece of parchment. Tristan immediately retrieved the paper and attempted to read the fine Latin that was delicately written on it. Tristan could read a bit of Latin, but was not a true proficient. He, after all, could not even read his own language having been taken away at such a young age. However, one's will is often enough to facilitate a means and Tristan managed to slowly make out the letter.

_Tristan,_

_I do not ask thee for forgiveness for I realize I have done what is unforgivable. As I sat watching you struggle through fever and pain, I realized that had it not been for me you would not be in such a state. Had you known what I had taken from you, you would not have thought twice about saving me. Or mayhap, you would have and if so I am even less worthy of your forgiveness for I would not have done the same. I saved you because you are better than I, have more honor than I. I give you this back because I realize that you are unworthy of such foul treatment. How do I know this? It took six months of studying you to steal this blessed sword and in those six months I realized you were not the cold blooded killer that I was informed you were. You must know that I had my own reasons for needing the sword, but as your wounds can attest, you need it far more than I._

_There is only one more thing I would like to say. When I stole your blade, I left an emerald bracelet. It is my most valued possession. As you can see, I kept your sword in good order please do the same for that charm. Though I shall never see it again, it is a bigger part of me than my own soul. If you wish for your revenge, I have been staying half a day's ride from your fort in a small village. I cannot say how much longer I shall stay because I must return to Rome, but if you wish me dead I do not fault you._

_I left you some porridge and there are herbs in you bags to lower any more bouts with fever you might encounter. They needn't be mixed with anything, but if you do not like the bitter taste they can be made into a tea with some of the sweeter herbs I left. I also removed your stitches so that you can move about which tearing them. Please be careful, though, because they are not yet fully healed. I wish you safety and luck in all that you do._

_Cassia Faustus_

Tristan let the parchment float from his grasp in the cool breeze that blew by. He glanced around the clearing even though he knew she was long gone. His mind was pulling in two directions. He knew that if he wished to he could track her and kill her for her troubles but some part of him, the barely existent human part, told him to let her run. He, after all, was still two days ride beyond the fort and most likely three days late in returning already. The loyal scout within him, and maybe something else, told Tristan that if he didn't return to the fort soon worse things would happen than losing his precious blade.

Slowly and very weakly, Tristan once again got to his feet. He no longer had her brews for the pain, so he was very aware of every ache his body felt when moving. It took three tries but Tristan managed to pull himself into the saddle, though he was sure that if Cassia, as the letter had revealed, had not removed his stitches prior to this, they would have torn. Tristan slowly strapped his sword to its rightful place at his back and turned his horse back toward the fort.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had been five days since Tristan was scheduled to return, and there was still no sign of him. Arthur was beginning to worry that another grave would soon accompany Lamorak's. Arthur had at least one knight on guard at all times waiting for Tristan's arrival, so that if, god forbid, Tristan was injured or dying help would be there immediately.

It was just past dawn on the seventh day, during the guard change, that Tristan returned. It had taken him three days to return to the fort when it had only taken two to find the river. His fever had returned on the second night, but he had taken some of the herbs Cassia had left him in his pack. It was keeping his fever low, but he had no energy to speak of and he used the last bit of the herbs the previous night. As he rode through the gates, Tristan nearly fell out of the saddle.

There was no one in the court yard as Tristan brought his horse to a halt. Sliding out of the saddle, Tristan was careful to use his horse for support as he slowly made his way into the stables.

Jols was sleeping on a bale of hay as was common when some one was expected to arrive at any time. As soon as Tristan entered the stable, Jols was on his feet trying to discern who was there.

"Tristan, you're back," Jols said in shock when he realized who was standing there. Taking another look at the scout, Jols realized just how worse for wear Tristan was looking. He was swaying on his feet even though he was holding his saddle in a death grip. "I'll call Arthur," Jols stated as he rushed for the door. But he was stopped at the exit.

"No, tell him I shall meet him in the hall. I will take care of my horse first," Tristan said as he walked his steed to his stall. Jols just nodded and headed for Arthur's quarters.

After taking special care of his horse, Tristan made his way to the table room at a painstakingly slow pace. Tristan could feel his temperature rising, but he was well trained at disregarding pain. By the time Tristan entered the hall, he had composed himself enough that he could cover up his limp and his hair hid his flushed face. All of the knights sat around the table waiting for him, rather impatiently. When Tristan glided into the room everyone stopped what they had been doing to stare at their silent brother who happened to have his "lost" sword strapped to his back.

Kay was the first to break the silence. "Welcome back," he said as he moved to take his seat. Everyone quickly took their seats as Tristan made his way to the table.

As everyone sat Arthur began, "knights, since this is a long awaited meeting, I am going to cut straight to the chase." Arthur didn't start with his usual tribute to their fallen brethren but instead moved ahead quickly. "Tristan, what did you find?"

"Pack of woads," was Tristan's vague reply.

"How close, do they pose a threat," Arthur began to question deeper.

"Not anymore," Tristan continued with his vagaries.

"Tristan, you have been gone a week longer than you were scheduled to. We have been on edge since you left. There have been two Woad attacks in nearby villages. Will you please explain, in a language we can decipher, what took you so long."

"Two days out, I came across a small hunting party with a captive," Tristan stopped speaking when he had nothing else to say on the subject. Arthur took it as he was just pausing in his recollection. Arthur prompted Tristan to continue. "On the way back to the fort, I did not see any more suspicious activity than normal. I think they are recovering from their losses and will be for a while."

The knights looked at him as though he had grown another head which was not an uncommon occurrence for them. He may not have been the most verbose of the knights, but that was by far the vaguest report he had ever given. Tristan's reports usually gave every detail, often things that one would not think were important until much later when it proved necessary. Tristan could stand blindfolded in the middle of an empty room and come up with more details about it than he had given in his report.

Lancelot was the first to voice their thoughts, "Would you care to explain what happened during those nine or ten days in between your going and coming. Maybe if you feel the urge you might add in there why you have your sword back but no information. Just if you feel the need, don't feel obligated." Lancelot's voice dripped sarcasm as he watched Arthur's eyes narrow at the sword strapped to Tristan's back.

"I thought we agreed that you would _not_ go looking for your sword," Arthur continued before Tristan could get a word in. "I sent you out against my better judgment because you insisted that you could scout. I sent you in good faith that you would do the task at hand. You have never disobeyed orders before. I give you more lenience than any of them," Arthur was shouting now as he gestured to the other knights, "don't make me have to discipline you like I would a common disobedient."

"Do what you must," Tristan said. His breathing was coming a little shorter now, but no one seemed to notice his except Dagonet.

"Do as I must? Tristan, people are dead because you went off with a selfish task in mind. You disregarded the safety of your brothers and more importantly the entire fort because…" Tristan had had enough of the accusations flying at him as well as the skeptical looks.

"I did my task. It didn't go as planned, but it was done. I didn't disobey your orders, but do as you see fit. Not all missions are successful. You above all should know that."

"Tristan," Arthur paused calming himself trying to find the right words. "I don't want to have to do anything. I just want to know what happened."

Tristan was slowly beginning to sway on his feet having not stood for any long periods of time since the attack. He moved his hand to his eyes to try to catch a focus in the spinning room. If it weren't for Tristan's steeled self control, he would have fallen on the floor right there. "I threw that piece of shit sword away in the middle of the first day," Tristan paused, "They had a woman captive. I was careless." Arthur had a feeling that that was all he was going to get out of Tristan. That was only reinforced when Tristan's legs gave out and Dagonet moved to catch him before he hit the floor.

"He has a fever," was all Dagonet said as he carried Tristan from the room.

When Dagonet and the scout were gone the others just looked at each other. "Do you have any idea what just happened?" Galahad asked a bit confused.

"I think he's finally lost it," Percival said as he poured himself a drink. Arthur gave him a stern look not only for his comment but because it was only about three hours past dawn and Percival was already drinking.

"He's always been insane," Lancelot said casually.

"That's enough. There is obviously more to this than Tristan is willing to divulge. He has been loyal to us for four years and has never given us reason to question to it. We are just going to have to wait and see what happens," Arthur said as he stood to follow Dagonet.

xXx

Another chapter posted. I hope you enjoyed it. Tell me what you think of Cassia's note and Tristan's decision.


	10. Some Wounds Never Heal

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. **

Note: I meant to post this yesterday, but my state of consciousness had other ideas. So, I fell asleep before I could post this, sorry. Thank you to everyone who review, it is really appreciated. So please read and review!

Chapter 10 Some Wounds Never Heal

Arthur stood quietly in his scout's chambers. Dagonet sat in a chair, recently replacing the shattered one, next to Tristan's cot. The scout hadn't woken for more than a moment in the last two days. When Dagonet had first brought Tristan to his room he assessed the scout's injuries he was appalled at seeing the scout's condition. However, he couldn't help but notice how Tristan's back had been stitched and cauterized, something the scout couldn't have done himself. He decided that he would have to find out once the scout awoke.

Now, both Dagonet and Arthur sat silently waiting for Tristan to wake. It was beginning to look like Tristan might never rise from the throes of unconsciousness. Arthur hated being in this situation, watching one of his knights hang in the shadow between life and death. It was especially hard watching Tristan stand on death's doorstep not only because Tristan was the best scout Arthur had ever seen, but because Arthur knew what a hard time Tristan had before coming to the fort. Tristan had learned to live alone, but Arthur was afraid that Tristan was destined to die alone as well, something he wished on no one. Arthur remembered the last time he had sat beside Tristan's cot wondering whether the scout would wake in this world or the next.

_Arthur had promised Dinadan that he would watch over the man that he had carried into the fort not two days prior. The dark hair man had obviously been beaten and left for dead, but as Dinadan had pointed out earlier he bore Sarmatian markings on his cheeks. The man was not very well off. Dagonet said that he had three broken ribs several other fractured bones and a great deal of blood loss and bruises to overcome. Not to mention, his back was raw due to persistent flogging. The man looked like he could barely lift a sword on a good day, and there he was lying on a freshly made cot battling for his life._

_Arthur had sent Dinadan to wash up and rest because he had been out scouting for well over a week and probably hadn't slept at all since he picked up the other man. Dinadan said that he had found him face down in the mud covered in only tattered clothing with a dappled horse that stuck close by. He hadn't woken more than thrice in all their travels and didn't seem to be recovering at any great speeds. _

_Arthur found himself mesmerized by the dying man because he looked so resigned to death though he could not have been more than twenty-two winters old with a whole life ahead of him. Arthur prayed beside the cot for hours while keeping vigil for Dinadan and would do so whenever he found himself passing the room. Arthur may not have known, and may never get to know, the man behind the tattoos and braids, but he prayed for him all the same. Dinadan thought him good enough for saving so Arthur deemed him such as well._

_It took three weeks, but the man woke eventually. He didn't talk to anyone for another month and a half, but eventually Dinadan cracked through the harsh walls that Tristan, as he said he was called, had built up. Dinadan had spent nearly every waking hour beside Tristan's cot whether he was feeding him, talking to him, or reading to him didn't matter. Dinadan saw life in the shell that Tristan had become and he refused to let it die as Tristan himself had nearly done. Tristan had to battle his own inner demons before he was able to even open his eyes to the world around him._

_Arthur remembered how adamant Dinadan had been about saving the stranger that he had found nearly dead in the forest. He could have been a rogue or even a murderer, but Dinadan insisted on saving him. Once Tristan woke, Dinadan had even insisted that Arthur apply to get Tristan transferred to their post. Arthur had done so for his friend and had in turn acquired the best scout the island had to offer. Tristan may not have even had the strength to lift a sword upon his arrival but he was invaluable when it came to reconnaissance._

Arthur had seen his scout battle impossible odds before and beat them, and he had no doubt that Tristan would do so this time as well. However, that didn't stop Arthur from sending up a small prayer before leaving his friend's side. Arthur laughed to himself as he exited the chambers. He still couldn't believe that the man that had arrived bruised and beaten and as weak as a newborn lamb was now his most skilled and deadly knight. Tristan truly was a mystery, but he was one that Arthur would trust his life with.

XxXxXxXxXxX

_(Tristan's Dream)_

_Isolde was not two months past giving birth to her daughter, Rosheen, as she walked into the fort's tavern to retrieve her infant. The scout had taken to the child immediately, something Isolde could barely believe given his pensive and detached nature. She saw him immediately, sitting in the far corner with the child in his arms and his ale on the table. Isolde quickly made her way toward him but was blocked by one of the new Roman soldiers._

"_Why don't you come back to my table with me," he said with all the charm he possessed, which wasn't very much._

"_I am sorry, but I have duties to attend to," Isolde spoke in a quiet yet purposeful tone. The soldier didn't listen to her as he took her by the arm and all but dragged her to his seat which happened to be at the table in front of Tristan's. Before the Roman even had time to seat himself there was a dagger being held to his throat. The soldier immediately forgot about Isolde who took her child and hid behind the scout._

_"She's not your's to touch Roman," Tristan said in a menacing whisper. The Roman was not so inebriated to think of messing with the scout and nodded quickly. However, he was not done with her yet. _

_Three weeks later, Tristan was out scouting the coast. He had been gone two days and wasn't due back for another three. Isolde was thoroughly exhausted because Rosheen had developed a fever the previous evening and had kept her up the entire night. Rosheen was now sleeping peacefully as Isolde went to the market to buy some cloth to make several garments for the child. As she walked back to her rooms she was stopped by the same Roman from the bar._

_"I see that your protector is gone, so you are mine to touch all that I want," he said in a taunting voice. His indecency was met by a firm slap to the face from the tall redhead. _

_"If I were for sale, I would be selling myself all around the tavern like the other wenches. I am a healer and if you expect me to save your ruddy ass when you nearly get yourself kill, you will respect me," Isolde fumed as she went to sidestep past him. However, he was too fast and grabbed her around the waist._

_"No one slaps me, especially no a Sarmatian's whore," he growled into her ear as he dragged her into an alley. Screaming was heard through the market, but no one was brave enough to confront a Roman._

_Tristan returned a day early because he had ridden hard the entire journey. He couldn't stand being away from Isolde and the child for too long because he often worried for them. Tristan immediately went to the infirmary upon arrival because Isolde was usually there the entire day. There was a strange old woman tending one of the Romans but no Isolde._

_"Lady, where is the healer," Tristan questioned finding it odd that another would take her place since Isolde had been the only healer in the village for several years._

_"I am the healer, Sir. What would you have me do for you," the elderly woman said as she wiped the blood off her hands._

_"I would have you tell me where Isolde is," Tristan said gruffly showing the woman little respect._

_"I am not sure, but I think you can find her in the cemetery. I have only just arrived myself."_

_Tristan looked at the lady as though he didn't believe her but decided to go to his room instead. It was his quarters that made Tristan understand the healer's meaning. There was blood all over his bed and his bloodied dagger lay on the floor next to it. He picked up the blade that was given to him by his tribe before he left. It was crudely wrought and strictly ceremonial, but it had obviously been used for other reasons. Tristan put it in his cloak and rushed to the graveyard. _

_In the far corner of the cemetery two men stood above a hole that must have contained a body. He quickly ran to them as they began to fill the hole. "Men," Tristan called and both turned to him in concern. "Who is it you bury there?"_

_"There is but a woman," the one man said as he gazed into the grave with a look of sorrow. "Was a very sad sight, I'm afraid. They are saying that she was murdered by her lover. One of the maids found her stabbed to death in bed not two days ago. It was all quite a mess, I heard. I believe her name was Liz or something along those lines."_

_"Iz, Isolde," Tristan said as he fell to his knees. The second man nodded in confirmation of her name and both men silently deserted the scout when they saw that he knew her. Tristan openly wept at the grave of his lover as his heart blackened and turned to ice. She was buried at the foot of a withered and dying rosebush. It barely had a leaf to its name, but upon one of its withered branches grew a tiny misshapen rose that held the last bit of beauty the plant had to offer. Tristan used the filthy dagger to cut the bud off the plant then left the graveyard without a word leaving the gravediggers to cover the body. _

_The only thing on the scout's mind was whether Rosheen was alive or not. This was something Tristan would never know because he was arrested upon entering the village for the murder of his lover. As they dragged him to the dungeons Tristan grasped so tightly to the rose from Isolde's grave that the thorns dug into his skin and his blood mingled with the maroon of the petals. He had lost everything and there was nothing left for him to live for. Freedom would mean nothing without someone to share it with._

It was late in the evening when Tristan's fever broke. Dagonet gave a sigh of relief as he came to check on Tristan's bandages. Shortly after Tristan was once again waking up in his bed with an overall feeling of pain. The first sight the knight caught as he slowly opened his eyes was the dried rose that still lay one his shelf. Only a single darkened petal hung over the edge into view, but it comforted, as well as tore the heart out of, the scout all the same. Beside it Tristan knew, without even seeing, lay the only other reminder of his past, his Isolde. Tristan could feel the smoothness of the shell she had given him on the beach in his hands. It was one of the last happy days they had shared together before her death, and he would not let the memory fade.

"You've been out for two days. Pretty nasty cuts you have there," Dagonet said as he handed a cup of water to the scout. Tristan just nodded as he gratefully accepted the cup from Dag. They sat in silence for several minutes while Tristan quenched his thirst. Finally Dagonet felt the need to speak.

"Are you going to tell us what happen, or are you just going to stay holed up in here until you don't have to face it anymore?"

"I've told you all the information I collected…"

"Give it up Tristan. You have holes and gashes in you that would put one of the targets in the practice field to shame. Arthur doesn't want to punish you; he just wants some answers."

"I'm not afraid of punishment, if that is what you think," Tristan said devoid of all emotion.

Dagonet took a deep sigh and tried to reason with his stubborn friend. "We all know that you fear nothing, Tristan, but we fear for you. You go into the forest for a fortnight and come back in a few more pieces than you left in. We just want to know what happened. You are our friend whether you choose to accept it or not."

"I never…"

"…Asked for anything especially friendship. I know that, but you can't go through life expecting that no one will care that you exist. Everyone is bound to effect someone, you just have to learn to accept that you have effected us all whether you like it or not."

Tristan sighed as he retreated further into his cot, but soon gave in. "I never meant for it to happen, the sword I mean. I came across a party of Woads with a hostage. She looked so desolate. I don't know why but I couldn't just leave her to the unpleasant fate that undoubtedly awaited her at the hands of the Woads," Tristan paused as though he were trying to reason with himself. "I attacked the group. It should have been an easy fight. There were only fifteen, but I had discarded my sword early on and only had the sickles. I sustained these injuries but managed to kill them all. I can't tell you what happened after that, but the girl must have tended my wounds. I woke a week later. She was gone, but my sword was left with my belongings. I came back to the fort because if I didn't I would have hunted her down and killed her with my blade," Tristan trailed off obviously done with his narrative.

Dagonet was in shock. He had never heard so many words uttered by the scout in all of his years at the fort. The story itself was of no little concern either. Tristan sat in silence even venturing to close his eyes once again while Dagonet took everything in. "It was a girl?" was the only thing Dag could come up with. Tristan only nodded not even bothering to open his eyes again. Had Tristan possessed the capacity to show emotion, he would have looked ashamed. Dagonet took pity on his brother, though he knew Tristan hated people pitying him, and decided to leave his friend in peace. "I will return later to rewrap your shoulder. Get some rest, I hear that we have another mission in a few days; you'll need your strength."

With that said Dagonet stood and left without another word. As soon as he stepped into the hall Dag was met by Arthur who had been headed for the scout's room. "Dag, how is he doing," Arthur asked in a concerned tone.

Running his hand over his shaved head Dagonet sighed, "he's awake. His fever broke not an hour ago."

"That's good news. I need some answers from him…"

"He needs his rest far more than you need any answers Arthur," Dagonet cut off his commander in a placating tone. "Tristan has had a rough few weeks and upsetting him will do no one any good. He told me what happened; come, we can discuss it." Arthur nodded to his knight and led the way to his own quarters to discuss what had happened to his scout. Dagonet against his better judgment and loyal nature followed Arthur and related what Tristan had told him to his commander.

It was dawn when Tristan woke again. He was in less pain and could move his limbs with little difficulty. Tristan swung his legs over the edge of his cot and slowly attempted to get to his feet. White hot pain shot through his calf, but Tristan didn't let it stop him. He slowly limped over to the wash basin and rinsed his face. At a frustratingly slow speed, Tristan managed to dress himself. However, with the injury to his shoulder he could not put on his shirt. Just as he was carefully pulling on one of his boots, Dagonet entered the room with Vanora in tow.

"What are you doing out of bed, Tristan," Dagonet asked in exasperation.

"Don't like being useless," came the scout's whispered reply.

"Well your gonna be really useless when you go cripple ya stubborn fool," Vanora scolded as she crouched in front of him and laced up the rest of his boot. Tristan didn't protest her ministrations but instead let her fuss over him like the mother hen that she was. There was no use in upsetting her on top of everyone else. "There," she said upon finishing, "now you can go out and make a mess of yourself, which seems the only thing that you knights are good at."

Dagonet chuckled as she got to her feet and walked out of the room in a fuss. "She worried about you. Frustrated the hell out of Bors with her worry," Dagonet said to Tristan as he checked his shoulder injury.

"Why would she worry," Tristan asked more out of habit than true interest.

"She cares. She doesn't like seeing us dead anymore than we like the thought of dying," Dagonet stated matter-of-factly as he handed Tristan his shirt back. "The shoulder is looking pretty good. I stitched it up because it tore open in places, but it's holding up pretty well. Your calf is another story. It's all healed but you're going to have quite a limp for a while. I brought you a drink for the pain," he said as he pointed to a mug on the tray Vanora had left. Tristan inwardly cringed at the thought of the wretched brew, but drank it anyway. If he ever saw that wench again he would have her teach Dagonet how to make pleasant tasting medicines before killing her.

Tristan nodded to Dag who aided him in donning his tunic and slowly stood again. They gradually made their way down to the table room. As they entered, Tristan tried his hardest to hide his limp. Everyone was seated in their own places waiting for the meeting to begin.

As soon as Tristan and Dagonet took their seats, Arthur began the meeting as though nothing had changed in Tristan's absence. "Knights, we have another mission. There has been a disturbance in the next village, not a day's ride from here. It shouldn't take us more than a few days. We leave in at first light." With that, everyone began to clear out of the hall to get on with whatever duties were necessary before a mission. No one was in the mood to argue this morning and seeing as it seemed simple enough they left without a word against it. Before Tristan could escape Arthur called to him, "Tristan, a word if you please?"

Tristan stopped and silently returned to his seat. "Yes Arthur," Tristan asked as he stared at his commander with cold indifference.

"Tristan, I'm sorry for not believing you upon your return. We were worried by your prolonged absence and when you returned with little more than the sword you swore you wouldn't go looking for, I became a bit frustrated. Dagonet told me what happened to you while you were out there and I am sorry. You did what was right even if she was the one who stole the weapon in the first place."

"Are you finished," Tristan asked not unkindly.

Arthur nodded, "Yes Tristan. I know you don't like apologies or praise. Just try to stay out of trouble for a while, how's that?" Tristan just smirked at his friend and commander as he stood and carefully walked out of the room. 'That knight is going to be the death of me,' Arthur thought to himself as he watched the door close behind Tristan.

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I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that it wasn't too confusing. Did you think that I kept everyone in character or do I need to work on it? Should I let Rosheen live or should Tristan find out that she died with Isolde? Please Review, it means a lot. And I promise I will respond this time because notices are being sent out again (or so I think).


	11. Missions and Misery

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

Note: Okay, new chapter. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last one. As always, your input is greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy this and read and review!

Chapter 11 Missions and Misery

_Tristan sat in the silent forest with a clear mind. It had been so long since he had had the chance to meditate and let all his blood lust and anger wash away. As he sat there he became aware of another presence. It was obvious to him but unobtrusive and he let it stay without acknowledgment. It approached him while his eyes still did not open. He felt it bend over him to whisper in his ear. "If you wish for your revenge,_ _I have been staying half a day's ride from your fort in a small village," came a sweet as nectar voice that wrapped itself around his serenity and shattered it immediately. _

Tristan's eyes flew open as he sat up in bed. 'Cassia!' She was staying in the village they would be visiting or so his subconscious was telling him. Tristan's hand ached to hold his sword to her throat, but he calmed himself and lay back down. Judging from the shadows in his room it was about an hour before dawn. Tristan got up and began to prepare for the day. 'This mission may prove more interesting than was originally expected,' he thought to himself as he grabbed his armor and weapons as he headed for the stables only impeded by his ever present limp.

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They arrived at the quaint village only an hour before sundown. It had not been a hard ride, but Arthur had insisted upon stopping at midday for "lunch" or as the other knights had jokingly dubbed it "Tristan's nap time." Though Tristan had thrown the dirtiest look he could muster at Gawain who created the name, Tristan took full advantage of the break. His leg was full of shooting pain by that point and Tristan did indeed take a nap to escape said pain even if only for an hour. The second reason that their journey had taken so long was that Arthur refused to let Tristan scout ahead in his condition. So, they ended up taking a longer more round about route that wouldn't take them straight through Woad territory.

As they rode slowly through the rare afternoon sun, Lancelot felt the need to grace his brothers with his quick wit. "So tell me Bors," Lancelot began and everyone knew what was to come, "how is Vanora doing with my latest bastard. It is so nice of you to look after her for me between…"

"If ye value what ye got down there," Bors gestured to Lancelot's crotch, "then ye won't be finishing that statement. Van's all mine."

"If that is what puts your mind at ease, my friend, but I can't help but think that little number three has my eyes. Wouldn't you say so Tristan, nothing escapes your notice? Isn't that right," Lancelot brought Tristan into the conversation seeing that his fun with Bors was not going to last very long. Tristan just grunted in response as he moved toward the front of the column. "Ah, what would you know anymore anyway," Lancelot goaded. "After all you couldn't even keep your eyes on your own sword." Lancelot was obviously in a mood for blood, usually his jokes were harmless, but insulting Tristan's ability to care for his weapons was one of the deepest insults he could muster. It was a great shame to any warrior to lose a weapon, but to Tristan who placed his life on the edge of that blade it was unpardonable.

Tristan stopped his horse in his tracks and both became as still as the grave. Lancelot should have taken the hint, but continued on with, "What Tristan? Did the ones who shot you in the back cut out you…" Lancelot never finished his sentence because the tip of the very sword in question was pointed at his throat before he even saw Tristan move.

"Maybe you should stick to what you know Lancelot. I'm sure that there are plenty of whores in the next village who are desperate enough to stoop to even your level," Tristan growled under his breath as he flicked Lance's nose with the tip of his blade causing a small trickle of blood to flow down his nose. Lancelot's face drained of color but it was immediately replaced by the hue of pure fury as Tristan turned in the saddle and road up to talk to Arthur.

"I think someone needs another nap," Gawain announced quite loudly to everyone within earshot. Galahad began to laugh, greatly relieved that for once he wasn't the one being picked on by either Lancelot or Tristan.

"I think someone needs more than that," Kay said, as he road beside Lancelot trying to placate the furious second in command.

"A sense of humor might suffice," Lancelot ground out.

"Lance, you were out for blood and you know it. You just happened to pick the wrong target. He did just nearly die, you know. You could have waited a couple of weeks before going in for the kill," Kay replied as he watched the normally tranquil scout tensely ride his mount. "Don't get angry with him. He'll dismiss it in a couple of hours and you'll be back to tormenting each other before you know it," Kay finally said as he reached over and patted his friend on the back. They continued on in contemplative silence as Lancelot wiped the blood from his nose and upper lip.

Kay had been wrong, Tristan hadn't been furious at Lancelot in the least. Tristan, however, was completely incensed with himself. Everything that Lancelot had said was true in Tristan's eyes and he was all the more furious because of it. He could feel his blade begin to weigh down on his back. He itched to use it, to feel it skim through the flesh of _her_ neck as he had his revenge. He would find her in this village and he would restore his own honor with her blood.

Arthur watched his pensive scout ride like an iron rode upon his horse, he was that tense. Arthur knew that his scout was having a hard time lately. It was, after all, nearing the anniversary of Dinadan's passing and even though the scout would never admit it, he was always a bit touchy this time of year. Arthur had decided to do this "mission" so that his knights could have a few days away from the fort and hopefully their troubles. He was also hoping that maybe Tristan would relax long enough to let himself heal properly. There was no use in having a cripple scout, after all. Arthur was woken from his contemplation as his usually silent friend spoke.

"We are nearing the village, would you like me to ride ahead and warn them of our arrival," Tristan asked and though his expression showed nothing of his feelings for the subject, his eyes gave the faintest plea to be released. Arthur was going to say no, but he knew that the only way to get Tristan to loosen up a bit was to let him ride at his own accord. Arthur simply nodded and watched as his scout took off, like the hawk that was often perched on his arm, toward the village.

So, as the sun hung low in the sky and the day drew near to its close, Arthur and his knights rode in to the noisy village. The village was not large by any stretch of the imagination, but it was along a commonly used trade route so it was quite lively even at such an hour. The streets were filled with merchants making their final sales of the day and packing away what was left for the next. It was not much unlike the village outside of the Hadrian's Wall except for the fact that it had no fort attached. The knights quickly brought their mounts to the stable and saw to their comfort. Then each man went in search of housing for the night.

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Cassia had arrived back at the village not two days ago and already trouble was brewing. She had heard it whispered that two Romans had arrived that morning in search of a woman who would have fit Cassia's description about two years prior which was the last time she had set foot in Roman. Since then Cassia would name a place, leave her bounty and be gone without ever seeing her superiors. They obviously had not received the last payment and had set out in search of her, probably stopping at every village along the wall.

Now, Cassia was in trouble because if they found her they would murder her, no questions asked. If Tristan found her he would probably slit her throat with the blade she stole from him. 'Since when did life become so complicated? I never thought that I would miss slaving away on Lucia's estate, but here I am doing just that. Wonders never cease.' No sooner did Cassia think that then she caught a glimpse of what could have only been one person. "Oh bullocks," she said out loud as she watched as Gawain and his glowing mane strode into one of the inns. "You continue to laugh at me," she said to the heavens.

Luck was on Cassia's side if only a little because there were only two inns in the village and she happened to be staying in the one that the knights were not. Breathing a sigh of relief, Cassia pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and made her way back to her room with her fruit and bread in hand. She planned on staying in her room until either some one came to find her or everyone left. Cassia had had enough excitement for one lifetime and if she was going to have anymore it was going to have to come looking for her because she was sick of seeking it out.

As Cassia stepped into the room that had become almost a home to her she lay down on the small yet comfortable bed. Cassia was able to stay in the inn free of charge because she did the laundry and shopping for the innkeeper's wife not unlike what she had done in Rome for Lady Lucia.

_Cassia sat in the dank laundry and dye rooms of Lady Lucia's estate. She had been sifting through garments all morning cleaning and repairing all that were in need. I was far from Cassia's favorite job, but she had a talent for it like none other. Cassia could go through three loads before sundown and another one before bed. Cassia often found her self wondering where so many garments came from but truly didn't care so long as she was paid. Cassia found that the worst part of being a mere servant was that you were not a slave. Slaves were fed, clothed, and housed by their masters while servants may have been housed but needed to attain food and cloth on their own. This was hard to do when your wages weren't given._

_Cassia sighed as she threw some more linen into the cauldron. As she mixed the cloths around in the boiling water she heard some one coming down the stairs. _

"_Cassia, what are you doing down here? I called for you three times and yet you still have not come," screeched the shrill voice of Lady Lucia Vinus. It was rare for the lady of the house to stand up from her cushions but for her to venture into the bowls of the estate to find a mere servant was unheard of. "There you are," she said to Cassia who was elbow deep in filthy clothes. "The gathering is tomorrow and we have no fruit. You have the best eye for those sorts of things, so be on your way and get enough for the feast." With that said Lucia was gliding back up the stairs as though nothing had happened, but before she made it to the top she stopped and called back. "Oh and do be careful with your washing. I fear there was a terrible mark on my favorite dress the last time you washed it and I simply had to throw it away."_

_Cassia snorted as the door to the dye rooms was closed. She hated her job more than anything on Earth, but it was all she knew. She had been good at very little as a child. Her mother even refused to let her father save a dowry for her because she knew that Cassia would make a terrible wife. Only Marcus seemed to think she was worth more than burden of her existence._

Cassia usually dreaded memories of her old life, but lately they had become her only companion, besides the unconscious scout. She used to be afraid of her past, of what she was, but now she found herself fearing very little. She barely feared death anymore, and she no longer feared dishonor. 'Little good honor does you when even the priests and bishops are as corrupt as the common thief,' she thought as she once again drifted off into a restless sleep.

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So what did you think of this chapter. I'll admit that it isn't one of my favorites and that it's really more of a filler between the first part of the story and what is to come. So I promise it will get more interesting in the next chapter. I'll try to upload that one quickly.

So what did you think of the knights' interaction? What about Cassia's resignation to her situation?

After the next chapter I might not be as quick with updating because in the next two weeks I have a lot going on in school. Let's just say that my creative juices have ceased to flow under the constant assault that my teachers have put me under. So please forgive me if I am not on top of things for the next couple of weeks. I promise I'll try to update as often as possible.

Anyway, sorry for the long author's note. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and please review!


	12. Turning of the Tables

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that you recognize.**

Note: I reworked this chapter earlier today, and I like how it turned out. I hope you agree, so please review and let me know what you think!

Chapter 12 Turning of the Tables

Cassia woke just before dawn when the village was beginning to come to life. She could hear the merchants setting up their stands and the women readying their pots. It was always pleasant to wake to such noises. It made her feel that if life could be so simple for the town's people maybe one day it would be simple for her as well. Forgetting her previous notion of staying inside, Cassia rose, dressed, and left her rooms. As she set out, she collected the laundry for the day as well as an apple for breakfast. Cassia quickly made her way to the growing crowds toward the back of the village where a small stream ran. This was where all of the women did their laundry.

As Cassia passed a narrow alley two men stepped out in front of her. They were dressed as common peasants, but Cassia knew Romans when she had the displeasure of seeing them. "Cassia, it has been too long. I barely recognized you with the longer hair and the slighter figure. What happened to the plump Roman woman we knew," Asked the tall dark haired Roman with a nasty scar along his jaw line.

"She died with her husband, now let me pass," Cassia shot back in disgust.

"Sorry love, but we had a deal. You would leave that sword at the docks and we would leave you be. So you give it to us and we'll let you pass," said the shorter of the two men.

"I gave it back to the man, and I would prefer it if you didn't call me 'love.' I have no love for you and you certainly have none for me. I refuse to do any more of your bidding. I spent enough years in servitude to know slavery when I see it, and that is all I have been to you since Marcus died. Who is to say that if I had given you the sword, you would have granted me peace?" Cassia was on the brink of tears because she knew she was staring death in the face. There was no use in lying to them because she would be dead either way. "Now either kill me or let me pass because I have better things to do than sit around here being interrogated."

"As you wish, my lady," said the first man again as the two men dragged her into the alley. Cassia barely had a chance to struggle as the two, obviously stronger, men restrained her. Not to mention, her body wasn't completely healed from the Woad attack and her ribs were still sore from the beating they gave her. The first thrust her up against a wall and held a knife to her throat while the other kicked her in the stomach so she doubled over putting further pressure on her neck. "You have one last chance to tell us where the sword is."

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_The golden brown haired woman kneeled above Tristan as he lay in the middle of a grassy field. Her features were not as delicate as the rich Roman women that frequently passed through the fort with their husbands, who tended to be Roman officials. No, she had a plainer look to her that was not without beauty, but beautiful wasn't the first word that sprung to mind upon seeing her face. _

_Tristan looked up into her warm and gentle honey eyes that contrasted his cold pair so perfectly. She gently pushed the hair out of his eyes as she looked held his gaze unwavering. Without a word spoken he felt he knew more about her than he did his own brothers who he had fought beside for over four years. They gazed at each other for several more moments before she broke the silence. "If you wish me dead I do not fault you," came her sweet voice that shattered the mood. Suddenly Tristan rolled her onto her back and knelt over her strangling the life from her. She made no protests but instead let him steal the life from her. _

_Before he knew what hit him, she lay dead beneath him. It was another moment before he released her from his grasp. He stood quickly and gazed down at his handy work. She looked so peaceful as though death were the best thing that happened to her in a long while. He looked at her for several minutes but with each passing second it became more unbearable. She lay there at peace beyond all the evils of the world while he stood in torment surrounded by all the pain she no longer faced. Tristan looked around him and he then noticed that they had not been alone in the field. Surrounding him were the bodies of all of his fallen brothers. Looking back at her, it was no longer Cassia that lay dead before him but a face from the past clutching a withering rose to her silent heart._

Tristan woke in a cold sweat. That was the second time in as many nights that Cassia had invaded his dreams. Tristan sat up letting his covers pool in his lap. He could not get the horrific image of his former lover lying lifeless in a field of his dead brethren. All of the people he had failed to save looked at him with dead eyes, and though Tristan had steeled himself against the pain of lose, he could not help but shudder at the memories his dream had uncovered.

Tristan quickly got up, washed his face, dressed, and hurried to find something to distract him from his thoughts. He knew that woman would bring nothing but discord with her, and it seemed as though he was right. Though at the moment he had no idea just how correct his assumption truly was.

Tristan had been headed for the stables when he saw a flash of gold pass by him. As he turned to see what it was, he saw the back of a golden brown haired woman carrying a basket of clothes in one arm and a half eaten apple in the other. He knew immediately that it had to be _her,_ who now not only haunted his life but invaded his subconscious as well. The purposeful stride she employed drew him to her further. While everyone else was still in a half dreamlike state, she strode through the village as though she had been up for hours ready to do this.

Tristan became aware of the weight of the sword at his back and the voice in his head that told him to follow her. Being a firm believer in listening to his instincts because it had a habit of saving his life, Tristan followed her. He followed her until she was confronted by two poorly disguised Romans who pulled her into an alley. Tristan stood at the entrance to the alley as he saw the Romans attack Cassia. Rage filled every inch of his body. Red hot fire seared into his vision as he watched the one put a knife to her throat.

'That wench is mine to kill as I please. She stole my sword and nearly got me killed. I will be damned if I am going to let two paltry Romans do the deed for me,' his mind screamed as he heard the larger say, "you have one last chance to tell us where the sword is." Tristan was behind the man before he could take a breath.

"Sword's right here," he whispered in the man's ear as he menacingly drew his curved blade out of its scabbard so that the sound of metal on metal pierced the air as a herald of the death that was approaching. Tristan didn't even wait for an answer before ending the pitiful existences of the two corrupt Romans. Their was not honor in these kills, but there was no use in dragging out what was inevitable.

Cassia watched as Tristan easily did away with the two Romans. With the flick of his blade a throat was slight and a gut torn open as though it were as simple as making a cup of tea. Tristan's deadly calm accuracy did nothing to calm Cassia's already jumbled nerves, and the fact that as soon as the others were dead Cassia found that same blade at her own neck didn't help either. Tristan stood several feet away yet his sword pinned Cassia to the wall with no hope of escape. His eyes, the ones that were so beautiful and warm in fever, were now cold and heartless in another type of fever, one for blood. Cassia had resigned herself on her way back to the village that if she were to die by one's hand, she wished it would be Tristan's. For in her mind, Tristan was the only one who had true reason to kill her. The others may have made claim, but Tristan was the only one who truly possessed any. So, standing before him with her back against the wall, both literally and figuratively, and his sword at her throat, Cassia breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are you not going to beg for your life," came the roughly accented voice of the one who befriended the silent shadows.

"Why should I beg? I have no life to speak of, no family to mourn me, no children to carry on my legacy, and no honor uphold. I am just grateful that it is your sword that I shall die by, and not theirs," Cassia spoke in a calm voice as she gestured to the bodies that still seeped life onto the ground.

Tristan's sword was back in it sheath within the blink of an eye, and he was strangling her against the wall. "You shall beg," he said in his cold tone though in his eyes which were mere inches from her own, she saw the fires of anger and pain dancing, "if not for your life then for your death because I assure you it will be a far cry from pleasant." Cassia just continued to stare into the fire that was beginning to engulf all of Tristan's being. He was beginning to shake with it even though he tried to conceal it. He had shifted all of his weight off of his injured calf because it felt as though his leg were now on fire. "Since you have no qualms about me killing you, how do you wish to die," Tristan said through clenched teeth as he tried to control his rage.

"Whatever shall give you the most pleasure," she said in a placating tone of voice. Tristan shoved her back against the wall again so that she hit her head quite hard against the brick. She did not utter a sound as she slipped into unconsciousness and fell into the scout's arms. As her eyes slipped shut, Tristan was haunted again by images of his dream. Her face was distorted by the visage of Isolde and he removed his hands form her neck as though he had been burned. The image itself had seared into his mind.

Tristan was immediately shaken from his rage and delusion when the woman fell into his arms. He, in his state of anger, didn't realize how hard he had thrown her head against the wall. Now that she was unconscious, he could no longer take pleasure in her death. There was no honor in killing an unconscious enemy. This, however, left Tristan in quite a predicament. He had not only an unconscious woman on his hands but also two bodies of Romans no less. Making a rather rash decision Tristan scooped Cassia's limp body up into his arms and headed for his room. He didn't even try to be discreet in his actions as he marched through the market carrying the unconscious woman. He received several disapproving looks from the villagers but just ignored them and quickly moved on. He passed Dagonet coming out of his room as he carried her down the hall toward his provided chambers. Dagonet looked at him in puzzlement, but said nothing because the scout seemed to be very determined.

Dagonet helpfully opened the door to the scout's room for him and followed the pair inside. "What happened," the gentle giant asked as he saw her state of unconsciousness. He did not expect a reply, so he was very surprised when one was freely given.

"She chose to make enemies of the wrong men," Tristan replied gruffly as he dropped her unceremoniously onto the hard cot. He didn't even see if she was still breathing before heading for the door again. "Do not aid her," were Tristan's final words as he went to quit his chambers.

"Is it she," Dagonet asked knowing that the scout would understand his unstated question. The scout simply nodded and quit the room closely followed by Dag who shut the door and locked it not wishing to upset the scout by lending his aid. The girl, after all, looked as though she had simply fainted and nothing more.

Tristan returned to the bodies which had yet to be found, accompanied by Dag who had not left his side since seeing the woman. The large knight obviously feared what the scout might do, so he took it upon himself to make sure nothing happened. Being that the alley was in the back of the village away from most prying eyes, Tristan and Dag snuck the bodies to the edge of the forest and left them for the Woads to take care of. The native Britons never turned down a chance to make ornaments out of their Roman enemies.

Dagonet asked no questions as to what happened, but he instead trusted that his monosyllabic friend had done only what was necessary. Dagonet had seen Tristan kill many men but never in cold blood. As much as the other knights liked to joke about their brother's joy of killing, Tristan was always in control of his urges and never allowed it to dictate his killing habits. Dagonet quickly helped Tristan lower the shorter Roman to the cold ground so that Tristan would not have to put any further strain on his recovering calf. Tristan accepted the help without complaint knowing very well that Dagonet was simply helping him out of friendship and not because he thought that he was weak. Had it been any of the other knights, Arthur included, Tristan would have insisted on doing it himself and without their pity. Dinadan had been the only other one that Tristan had ever allowed to aid him, without complaint. Once finished, Tristan guided Dagonet back to the village and into the stables.

Tristan limped quickly over to his steed and began to tend the creature that he had neglected earlier because of being sidetracked. Dagonet did the same to his own mount just beside Tristan's stall. Silence reigned for several minutes before Tristan answered the question that was hanging in the air. "They attacked her and would have killed her if I had not intervened," Tristan said in his quiet lilting voice.

Dagonet nodded before asking, "But don't you want her dead?" Dagonet didn't approve of the laws of the Romans when it came to stealing, but he would not begrudge Tristan for wanting revenge. Silence hung over them like an unwelcome thunder cloud for several more minutes until Tristan was about to take his leave.

"If she is to die, it shall be by my sword and no other," Tristan said as he left the stables, having finished caring for his horse. What frightened Dagonet most was that he understood Tristan's reasoning. She had done wrong to Tristan and it was his right and no other's to avenge such a dishonor. Dagonet just shook his head in wonder as he watched the scout leave.

It was nearly noon when Tristan returned to his room to find a still passed out Cassia. He decided to sit and wait for her to wake. In the meanwhile, he would have time to decide her fate. As Tristan seated himself in an uncomfortable chair next to the bed, he took time to study his unfortunate thief. She was not nearly as young as he had originally thought her to be when he saw her in the forest. He had imagined her barely out of her teens and still ignorant of the world's working, but this woman was nearing thirty if not there already and probably well aware of the pains of life.

She might have been beautiful if it were not for suffering that had been etched into her features long ago. She was not the most delicate of creatures, but neither was she as rough as the tavern wenches that Tristan would sometimes take up with. No, Cassia was a practical middle. She was neither an epic beauty nor a wretched hag. She was simple in every way that he could discern by looking at her. Her hair, her features, her dress, her breathing was all simple and quite tolerably so. She was definitely not as heavenly or angelic as his delirium had made her out to be in the forest. She was unlike any other Roman woman he had ever seen. Even in sleep, some of the Roman wenches that passed through the fort still held an air of superiority over everyone else. Cassia just seemed to be a woman made of the same fashion as anyone else. She was humble.

Tristan found himself hypnotized by her presence and soon began to doze next to his own cot. His body decided that it needed to compensate for the lack of sleep he received from the previous night's dreams. For the first time in quite a while Tristan wasn't haunted by memories or nightmares, but instead napped peacefully next to his prisoner. He was so at peace that Tristan almost didn't wake when Cassia began to move. However, Tristan was trained scout, the best, and his body would not allow him sleep through something that could easily turn into a threat.

Tristan woke to see Cassia thrash in her sleep. Her previously calm visage was now marred with fear and anguish. Tristan found himself wondering what she was dreaming about. Was it her past? Was it those men? Was it him? Tristan couldn't help but shudder at the last one. As much as he craved to run her through with his saber, Tristan knew just by looking at her that he could not do it. This was not a woman who sought out to ruin the lives of everyone she touched, but fate had cruelly made her so. Tristan almost laughed to himself as he took her hand in his attempting to banish her nightmares. 'The tables have turned on us. Now it is I who watch you through your restless dreams and you who lay there vulnerable,' he thought to himself as he watched her ease back into a fitful slumber.

And so, the more Tristan watched her in her sleep, the less he thought about killing her. Sure, he was not going to let her go, but killing such a practical creature was against his nature. Had she been as a wild flower plucked from a field, he wouldn't have thought twice about extinguishing her beauty for Tristan often took pleasure in ruining pretty things. But, Cassia just existed and had no great effect on anything. Maybe because her death would mean nothing because no one would mourn her, that he decided to spare her. Maybe it was because he saw a bit of himself in her though he would never admit it.

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So they meet again! What do you think of Tristan's reaction to finding her? Do you like his decision not to kill her? What do you think Cassia's fate will be?

I have the next chapter written, it's just a matter of editing it before I post so I'll try to get it out before Monday. Please review and tell me what you think because they definitely inspire me to write more!


	13. Decisions

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing and it doesn't look to be changing in the near future.**

AN: Sorry that it took me so long to update, but life has been hectic. I hope that you like this chapter as much as I liked writing it, so please read and review.

Chapter 13 Decisions

Cassia woke to a splitting headache. "Why am I still alive," she questioned the heavens though she didn't realize it had been out loud until she received a reply.

"There is not honor in killing an unconscious person just as there is no honor in stealing from one."

Cassia's eyes flew open at the sound of the silent killer's voice, though she immediately regretted it because it made her head spin. Tristan just sat there and watched her as she held her head in pain. Cassia was quickly beginning to wish that she were dead. "I don't suppose you have herbs to ease a headache for a thief and prisoner," she asked in a whisper, trying to ignore the obvious jib he made about her thievery.

Tristan just grunted as he stood and walked to the window to look out upon the village. Arthur was running about with the village elder, probably speaking about harvests and disturbances, and whatever else Arthur talked about. Tristan had been staring out the window for the better part of the day as he had watched over Cassia. In that time, he had seen Arthur do nothing but run back and forth helping various villagers with their harvests. It was not even the harvesting months yet, but the villagers still had plenty of crops that needed picking.

_Tristan had been sitting in his room at the inn since the time the sun hung in the center of the abnormally clear sky. He had watched the woman in deep sleep and in deep torment. His angered mind wouldn't allow him to pity her, but his hardened heart warmed just a little for her. Just before she had woken Tristan was deciding what he would do with her. He couldn't kill her, and he wouldn't just let her go, but he could not truly think of a fitting punishment. The Romans might cut off her arm for stealing, but Tristan was loath to do anything the Romans might even consider. Tristan looked Cassia up and down and his eyes were drawn to the slender hand that lay atop the cloak that he had thrown over her. Her hands were not dainty looking like most women's that he'd seen. They were the hands of one who put them to good use. That was when Tristan decided her fate. No sooner had he chosen her future than she began to stir._

Tristan woke from his reverie and looked back to Cassia who had once again closed her eyes in attempt to fall back to into unconsciousness. He smirked at her tactics. Most women and even some men, Tristan's mind immediately supplied Galahad's name, would have moaned until he gave in and offered them something to sooth the pain, but Cassia simply accepted it and moved on.

Tristan was not one to waste time or breath on much so he decided not to waste anymore on this woman by letting her fall back to sleep. Moving swiftly to the bed, Tristan kicked the cot so it shook unpleasantly. "You will not be returning to unconsciousness," he state abruptly. All compassion that he let himself feel while she was unconscious vanished like the morning mist once the sun arrived. Cassia simply opened one eye as if to ask, why the hell not? "I am not going to kill you."

"Well as nice as that is to hear, I would much rather sleep right now," she said sarcastically as she rolled on her side to face the wall. After a minute of silence, Cassia gave a defeated sigh. "You mind explaining what you are going to do to me, and if it involves taking me against my will, you might as well kill me now because I refuse," she said in a contemptuous tone.

"You are now my slave," he said matter-of-factly with absolutely no emotion.

Cassia sputtered as if she couldn't believe the words flowing from his lips, but what was most frightening was that she did believe him. He wasn't the type to joke, especially about something like that. "How did you come to that conclusion," she asked timidly as she found herself moving further away from him and nearly falling off the cot.

"While you were unconscious I decided I wouldn't kill you. However, the way I see it, you stole my sword, led me to be attacked and nearly killed by fifteen Woads in order to save your life, and led me to kill two Roman citizens in order to save your life just so I could end it myself. That means that you owe me your life several times over. I realize that you saved my life once and returned the sword as well as that bracelet, so that leaves you in the debt of simply your life," he said almost lightly, or at least as lightly as anything Tristan said could be.

"That's the most I've ever heard you speak at one time," she said in a bit of a daze.

"I figure just saying, 'an eye for an eye,' wouldn't have meant much to you," he said as he took a bite of an apple that seemed to have almost appeared out of no where.

"So that's it," she said looking up at him from her place beneath the covers, "I become the one thing that I have been trying to escape for the past four years?" Her voice sounded sad and defeated, but she held his gaze steadily.

"Life does tend to be cruel," Tristan replied as he walked back to the window trying desperately to hide his limp from her, both trying to hide their pain from the other.

"Only as cruel as the people in it," she said as tears began to silently flow from her eyes. All she wanted to do was run back to her room and hide from the world because every time she ventured out into it everything seemed to go wrong.

"We return to the fort in two days time. Until then you are free to do as you please. . You may retrieve whatever belongings you possess and enjoy yourself, I do not care, but you will return with us," with that said Tristan strode out of the room barely concealing his limp. Once in the hall, he had to stop until the pain receded.

Cassia sat in his room with her head in her hands cursing the day she found happiness because it only led to heartache. She desperately tried to remember why she had ended up where she now was, but she could only hear her husband's voice. _ I have no right to ask this of you, my love, but I have no other to ask. Will you see my debts though? Will you see that my worst fears are not realized?_

Cassia remembered the first man that she had robbed._ She sat alone in a dark room waiting for her chance to sneak into the chambers of the bishop, the very same bishop that had buried her husband. She sat weeping for hours before slipping into the dark room. She quickly took the item that she had been sent for, but as she exited the room she ran headlong into the bishop himself. He had looked at her with such kindness obviously believing that she needed to talk about her troubles. Then he saw the solid gold goblet in her hands and began to frown. He had sat her down and forced her to explain why she was stealing from the church. She told him her entire sordid tale and by the end she was weeping into his robes. The bishop had forgiven her and given her the chalice, saying that it was his duty to help those in need, and she was definitely in need. She had left clutching the cup to her chest swearing to every deity that might hear her that she would never steal again. That promise had lasted about as long as it took her to walk back to her house to give the chalice to those she owed._

Cassia sobbed for a long while before she composed herself enough to rise from her "owner's" bed. She trembled at the thought of belonging to someone, but she knew that by every right she was in his debt completely. At least she had her life which is more than she would have had in the hands of the Romans. Finally, after long deliberation, Cassia decided to enjoy her final two days of freedom.

Tristan had been sitting in the corner of the tavern which was attached to the inn waiting for an order from Arthur, though he doubted any would be coming. Arthur had been convening with the leader of the village since they arrived and Tristan suspected that this was no more a legitimate mission than Cassia was a legitimate thief. But, Tristan supposed that they both had their reasons. Arthur's most likely stemmed from his worry over his knights. Getting them away from the fort for several days would help them move on and Tristan figured that Arthur wanted to prevent any future problems due to the sword "incident." Sadly Arthur's good intentions had a way of back firing because he had led Tristan straight to the source of his problem.

Tristan nursed his ale as the other knights began to join him in the evening hours. Gawain and Galahad had been hunting most of the day since there was little else to do. Lancelot had been "taking in the sights" as he called it, or in other words deciding which wench he would be bedding that night, while Kay kindly followed him making sure his choice was not otherwise engaged or married. Bors and Dagonet had helped several of the villagers with repairs to their shops and homes. Percival, much to Arthur's dismay, had spent the day in his room only venturing down to the tavern once the sun had set.

"Tristan, I was surprised that you did not join us in our hunt this morning since you have not had the chance since…" Gawain trailed off before he could bring up the subject of the sword, but Tristan didn't seem to notice.

"Had business to attend to," was his gruff reply as he took a sip of his brew.

"See Kay, the wenches must be good if even Tristan had business to attend to," Lancelot jibed as he pulled an unsuspecting serving girl into his lap. "How would you like to…"

"Lancelot, I think her husband is watching you," Kay warned as he pointed to a furious looking man at the bar.

Lancelot scoffed, "Him? Why my Lady, he can do nothing for you. Please, come to my room and I will…"

"Lancelot, he is getting up."

"Fine, fine be on your way wench," Lancelot said as he pushed her out of his lap only to grab another girl that was passing by. "How about you? Are you already spoken for or will I be making you a very satisfied woman tonight?"

Lancelot received a not-so-gentle slap to the face as the woman abruptly stood, "I'm not a whore nor do I plan on becoming one for your sake, bastard."

"Yes well we have the Romans to that for that last part now don't we," he called after her as she moved to the bar. "Tristan, I hope you are having better luck than I. These wenches think too highly of themselves."

"I have, but not all business is of that nature," came Tristan's cryptic reply. Lancelot just sulked and began to drink his ale as he watched for a woman that would fall for his charm. Kay refrained from drinking, at least for a while, because he had a feeling that Lancelot would be getting himself into trouble on this night.

Cassia strode into the tavern several hours past dusk. It was not a large village but the tavern was always busy. She had enjoyed a hot bath earlier, probably her last for a long while, and was now dressed in the only nice garment she owned. It was a Roman style gown of a lavender hue. The dress had once hugged her every curve in an alluring fashion, however Cassia's recent lifestyle didn't lend itself to giving a girl a plump figure. Where Cassia had once been rather heavy, or healthy by Roman standards, she was now thin and almost frail. However, the dress was no less beautiful on her and it flowed down her body as the picturesque cataracts this island was known for.

Cassia hadn't planned on wearing the dress, but it seemed that her only other garments were still covered in blood and dirt from her adventure with the scout. As she stepped into the tavern, she knew it was a mistake. Several sets of eyes were already attached to her and she hadn't even made three steps inside. Not the least disconcerting were the gazes of, none other than, the knights. 'Oh bollocks, I should have known _they_ would be here,' she thought as she headed for the bar which happened to be just past their table.

"There," Lancelot said as his eyes took in the woman that had just entered. "She may not have the prettiest of faces but the rest of her suffices.

Tristan nearly spit out his drink at Lancelot's comment. He too had been watching as Cassia entered, but a far different thing was traveling through his mind. 'She is either a fool coming in here looking like that, or she is much braver than I have been giving her credit for,' Tristan thought as his eyes followed her as she strode past them. She didn't glide like the other Roman women that Tristan had witnessed at the fort. They always seemed to have an air of superiority in their stride, even the slaves. But Cassia walked with a purpose, one that didn't involve catching every eye in the room.

"She's Roman," said Kay as he assessed his friend's choice.

"Yes, I do believe that she is. All the more fun," Lancelot winked at the men. "My lady," he called to her back. She didn't even acknowledge his words. "My Lady, please grace our lonely table with your presence," he tried again.

Cassia turned to the infuriating knight as she lifted a mug off of the bar. "Sir, you look neither lonely nor in need of my presence. So if it is all the same to you, I would rather be left to my own company," she replied but continued to move closer to their table anyway.

"You drink ale, isn't that un-lady-like where you come from?"

"Where I come from it is also uncivil to try to woo another man's wife, but I have seen you do so without second thought. Just as it is also uncivil to insult a stranger without knowing their intent," she said as she passed him moving closer to the end of the table. "And, further more, I have no one to be a lady to , so why waste my time being lady-like as you say," she paused as she stood in front of none other than Tristan. Everyone was silent as the two exchanged a glare. "But if you must know, this ale is not for me," she finished abruptly as she sent the contents of the mug splashing into Tristan's face and down his tunic. She then turned and stormed back to the bar to speak with serving girl that Lancelot had previously tried to woo. As she passed him, Cassia slowed and remarked, "Now that sir," she said pointing to Tristan, "was un-lady-like." Just like that, she was gone.

Tristan was blinded by the ale that stung his eyes, but restrained himself from lashing out at the disrespectful woman. He simply wiped his eyes and sat back waiting for his vision to return. 'Definitely braver than I gave her credit for,' Tristan thought coldly, 'but she will pay for that later.'

"So Tristan, just what type of business was it that you were tending to today," Gawain joked as he watched the ever calm scout wring out his tunic.

"No wonder she did not wish to spend the night with me. She has already been scared off by your inferior talent. The poor girl is only missing out, I fear," Lancelot sighed as he watched her speak to her friend. Therefore, he did not see the dagger that came sailing at his head and landed just above it in a post. He was going to reprimand the scout; however Tristan's glare stole any words that would have been said. The other's were also silenced and simply went back to sipping their respective brews.

All of a sudden Lancelot asked, "How does she know that I woo other men's wives?"

Kay just gave him a ridiculous look and answered, "Lancelot, a blind woman could see that's what you do. You can't possibly think that you are anything more than a cad in most women's eyes." That was the last straw for Kay as he quickly beckoned a serving girl to pour him some ale.

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So what do you think of Tristan's final choice? How did you like the interaction between the knights? What about Cassia's actions?

I really hope that you liked this chapter. Hopefully I will be quicker with the next update. Reviews definitely make me update faster so please read and review.


	14. Last Breaths of Freedom

**Disclaimer: I still do not own anything that you recognize.**

AN: I am sorry that it took me so long to update. As usual, thank you to may reviewers, your input is much appreciated. Please read and review!

Chapter 14 Last Breaths of Freedom

It was very late and the tavern was nearly empty. All of the knights, except Tristan and Dagonet, had long since found their beds or someone to share their beds. Cassia still sat at the bar casually speaking to the villagers. She would glance over from time, but she seemed unfazed by Tristan's continued presence. Tristan, on the other hand, had been watching her since she had doused him in ale, from beneath his fringe. Dagonet had noticed his comrade's tense demeanor. Dag had his suspicions about the woman ever since she ventured to their table earlier in the evening, but at this point Tristan's body language was worrying him.

"You want to tell me who she is," Dagonet asked as he took a sip of his ale. Tristan just grunted as he moved his gaze to Dag. "Okay, do you mind telling me why you were showered in ale earlier tonight?"

"We had a disagreement," he said menacingly. "Going to check on my horse," he said as he stood and downed the last of his ale.

Dagonet sat in contemplative silence finishing the rest of his own drink when Cassia sat herself next to him. "You look like you have too much on your mind," she said sympathetically as she looked around the tavern.

"You have things to worry about too, if you have the scout mad at you," he chuckled as he looked at her closely. There were the remnants of bruises around her face and she looked a bit worse for wear beneath her cool exterior. Her long hair covered her shoulders and back preventing him from seeing any future damage.

"He didn't do this, if that's what you're thinking," she said reading his expression perfectly.

"I…How do you know him," Dagonet couldn't think of anything better to say.

"You know why. I can see it in your eyes, you just can't figure out how," her voice was like velvet as she lightly yawned seemingly bored with the conversation. "He found me in the forest. I had been captured by Woads and he rescued me. Let's just say I'm not the most grateful of damsels."

Dagonet chuckled as he saw the spirit return to her eyes. "You are a brave woman to throw a drink in my brother's face. He has killed men over smaller disrespects," Dagonet said but with mirth because he saw that she was no hardened criminal but a simple spirited woman.

"I am his to do with as he pleases, but he will not kill me. He has already made that clear. However, I face reprimand when we meet again," she sighed lazily as she ran her index finger over the rim of his empty mug. For any other woman this action would seem a desperate attempt at seduction, but Cassia was simply a relaxed woman. There was nothing seductive in her, not because she was not attractive, but she simply wasn't interested.

"What do you mean that you are simply his to do with as he pleases," Dagonet questioned confusedly.

"I am in his debt far more than I can ever repay," she whispered as she looked wistfully around the tavern. "But it is late. Not a time to be speaking of such depressing matters. I fear I am exhausted and must retire for the evening," she yawned as she stood to leave.

"But how do you mean?"

"Fret not, I shall be around quite often to tell you all you wish to know, but tonight I wish for rest."

"Forgive me, milady. I will escort you to your home. It is so late I could not let you walk along; it would weigh on me greatly," Dagonet said gently as he rose with her.

"Thank you sir, I am not so proud as to deny your company. It has been so long since someone beside myself has watched over me," she said as she linked arms with Dag and headed for her lodgings. As they came to the inn that she was residing at, she slipped from his grasp. She turned to him and kissed his cheek as before entering to the inn.

Though before she could close the door, he said, "Lady, I never heard you name."

"Cassia, and you are Dagonet gentle healer among wounded spirits," she said with a ghost of a smile as she disappeared into the dark inn. Dagonet just watched her disappeared with a gentle smile creeping into his features.

Tristan had been watching from the shadows as Dag had walked his property to her lodgings. He had been tending his dappled steed when he heard their voices passing the stables. Tristan was not curious by nature, but something inside him told him that it was in his best interest to follow. He had quickly provided his mount with hay and water and exited the barn like the wraith that so many accused him of being. He had seen Dag walk her up to the door to the only other inn in the village. Then he saw her kiss his cheek. Tristan's anger flared as he watched the gentleness in both of their smiles from his place in the shadows. Had he been able to hear what was being said, he would have feared not. However, Tristan could not hear them and began to fear that the others might take to her as well. That was just what he needed, his brothers in arms turning against him for a common thief.

Tristan turned from the scene and stalked back into the stables. Seating himself in the stall with his mount, he laid his head back against the wall. His hawk perched itself on his shoulder and lovingly began to nip at his braids. "I'm a fool," he said in his gravelly voice to his feathered companion. The bird cocked its head to the side and just looked at him as though he was making little sense. "Am I doing the right thing? I mean she stole from me, the only thing I still value," he was cut off as the bird dug its talons into his shoulder through his thin tunic. "Okay, okay. The only other thing I still value in this life." The bird immediately loosened its grip as though it understood him completely. "But, I can't help but think that I'm wrong. Hell, I'm little more than a glorified slave myself, for Rome to do with as it pleases. Can I truly condemn another to a fate that I detest for my self?" Tristan threw his head back against the wall causing a loud thud, but the bird wasn't spooked.

The hawk just sat their preening its feathers while Tristan tried to sort his muddled thoughts out. The bird was hungry, but Tristan knew that it would stay as long as he fought this inner battle, silently lending its support. "You may go hunt my friend. I will not keep you from your meal, for I may be here all night," Tristan whispered as he shrugged his shoulder giving the magnificent hawk lift. The hawk cocked its head toward him once more than flew out of the stable without looking back. Tristan sighed heavily and leaned against the wall once more. His thoughts followed him into a restless sleep, atop the hay that he had laid out for his steed.

Tristan was woken late in the morning by his mount's persistent nose. The horse was obviously hungry as it tried to get to the hay beneath the scout's body. Tristan slowly opened his eyes to come face to nose with his horse. Tristan groaned and was about to role onto his back when he realized that his hawk was nested on the small of his back since he had been lying on his stomach. Looking over his shoulder, the scout saw that the bird had indeed curled up on his back and looking to be resting peacefully with its beak tucked beneath its wing. The scout inwardly smiled at the hawk's loyalty. Before Tristan could move, the hawk raised its head and stared him straight in the eye. "It's late, eh," he said to the bird and it awkwardly found its way to his shoulder, talons digging into his flesh the entire way. "You been here long," the scout questioned as he stood. The hawk just stared at him. "Well I decided what I'm going to do," to that the bird looked at him with interest.

Just before passing into unconsciousness, the previous night, Tristan had decided to speak to Cassia once more before he decided if his decision was a wise one. He just hoped that he would not receive another mug of ale to the face for his efforts. Once Tristan was up he headed out of the stables to look for his fiery Roman slave.

Morning came all too quickly for Cassia since she only had one day left till her unfortunate enslavement. She rose before dawn and did the days wash before the sun had even made its daily appearance in the morning sky. She retrieved breakfast from the innkeeper's wife as she returned and made her way into the market. Cassia had only three gold pieces left to her name. She had sold all she had and given away her only possession that was worth more than one piece of silver. Cassia decided that she would spend her final earnings on something nice, though she knew not what.

Cassia wandered through the bustling market that she had been through over a hundred times, but this time it felt different. There was a sense of finality to her journey. She knew she would never do this again, yet she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for her circumstances. Over her four year journey on and off this wretched island, Cassia had learned that the decisions that she made often had unpleasant effects and it was better to accept it than to fight it because after all it was her doing.

Cassia's spirits were surprisingly high as she weaved between the vendors and villagers. Her skirts were in rags swaying at her ankles as she walked shoeless through the streets. She looked like a common beggar, but she still walked with the stride of a purposeful woman. Cassia tried to remember the last time that she looked her status in society. She remembered her wedding and the long flowing dress that she wore like a goddess. That was the first garment to go when Marcus had needed the money. The second thing that went was the ring. Now she only had the garments wrapped around her body which were beginning to look like they might not stay that way if she continued to wear them. How far she had fallen, even from her low position in Roman society, from a common peasant with a loving husband and purpose to a lowly slave with only the clothes on her back and a dreary master. Cassia immerged from her thoughts as something caught her eye.

She stopped in front of a small cart that stood behind most of the others and displayed unique items. There were several exotic hair pieces and pipes. They all had an eastern flavor to them, but were some of the most beautiful pieces she had ever seen. What had truly caught Cassia's, though, was a pair of thin yet long daggers. They were beautiful in that they had intricately etched designs running up the shaft of the blade and around the small hilts. They were delicate but upon further inspection one could see that they were very lethal. She lifted one of the blades from its beautiful leather scabbard. It was sharper than anything she had ever seen. The elderly man that ran the stand relieved it from her hands and threw it toward the post at the corner of the cart. The knife dug into the wood at a perfect angle and the man just looked at her with a knowing smile at her gaping mouth. He glided over to the post and gently removed the blade. Cassia just watched the small blade as he sheathed it in the leather binding once again.

"They are beautiful, are they not," was the first thing he said in broken Latin.

"They are the most beautiful blades I have ever seen, but I could never afford such a set. I wouldn't even have a use for them," she sighed as she readied to leave.

"How much do you have to offer," the elderly man asked gently as he wound the sheaths together with a piece of leather cord.

Cassia just looked at her shoeless feet and whispered, "only three gold pieces, sir. I am but a slave these days."

"Three gold pieces is quite a sum to an old man with no one but himself to care for. After all, these blades were not made to sit on a shelf, no matter how beautiful they are, they were made for use. If they will be used and protected for simply three gold pieces then so be it. So will you take them," he asked as he placed them in her outstretched hands.

"I'm sure I could think of something to do with them," Cassia smiled to the wrinkled old man as she produced her final three coins. Before she knew it, Cassia was gliding down through the market again with a pair of daggers in the folds of her tattered dress and not a coin to her name. It was nearing midday as she sat herself at the bank of the river just outside the village. Carefully, she removed the twin blades from her skirts, Cassia inspected the craftsmanship. They were etched to perfection and they glistened in the noon light.

She had not the slightest idea of how to use them or who to give them to, but something had propelled her into spending her final coin on their purchase. Slowly Cassia ran her fingers along the cool metal before returning it to its leather binding. She then placed them next to her on the rock which she had been sitting on, and they were soon joined by her ragged clothing as she dove into the shallow river.

As Cassia emerged from the water she realized that she had been joined by another. Glancing at the rock that she had previously occupied, Cassia's gaze was met with non other than the scout's. "Come to have your revenge for last night," Cassia asked with false bravado.

"Revenge is of little consequence," Tristan sighed as he sat on the rock that held her clothing as he cut himself a piece of apple. It took Cassia a moment to realize just what he was cutting the apple with, but then it hit her. He was holding her brand new dagger. Tristan must have figured out that she had noticed because her face was one of abject fury. "Tis a fine blade. The smith must have been truly gifted," Tristan said as he lazily gazed at the knife he was spinning between his fingers.

"That is my blade, and I would like it back if you please," Cassia fumed as she approached him forgetting that the water got shallower close to the rocks.

"I actually don't please. It is a fine blade, and as you Romans always say, an eye for an eye," Tristan said as he pocketed the dagger. "Just be happy I leave you with its twin," He said as he continued to eat his apple. "Oh and by the way, the water is shallow where you are standing," He said as an after thought. Cassia looked down and immediately fell beneath the water. She didn't come up right away because she was so ashamed.

'How could you not have noticed you were out of the water down to you navel,' she thought to her self as she lay beneath the surface. After several moments, all of a sudden a hand reached down and pulled her, by her hair, out of the water. Cassia came face to face with a very relaxed looking Tristan. Her upper body was covered with her balled up shift that Tristan held to her breast. He didn't even gaze lower than her chin. "If you are thinking that I took advantage of your situation, I did not look," Tristan said as he let her hair go. "As I said, revenge is of little consequence," the scout said as he turned and walked away as he pocketed her knife. "I suggest bathing in a less public place if you value you modesty though. And remember, if I wanted to kill you, I would have, but I can change my mind. Do not tempt me to do so by pouring more drinks into my lap," Tristan said over his shoulder as he strode back to town.

Cassia stood there half out of the water with her shift clutched to her chest as she watched the scout leave. He was so infuriating when he wasn't unconscious that it made her skin crawl. All she had wanted to do was to enjoy her final day of freedom without the interference of the scout, but she never seemed to get what she wanted. Cassia quickly donned her clothes and stalked off toward her room. "Bloody scout! He can have the bloody dagger, I would have probably given it to him anyway," she grumbled in annoyance as she trudged.

Tristan scolded himself all the way back to the village. He had meant to simply talk to her, and he had ended up stealing from her, insulting her, and threatening her. His morning was not beginning very well. Tristan no longer cared if he was right or wrong. The girl had chosen her own fate, a luxury that Tristan had not been granted with his own fate. However, this realization put Tristan in a foul mood which was demonstrated as Galahad approached him.

"Tristan," the youngest knight called. "My mount is acting up again, do you think that you can calm him." Galahad's horse, like the knight himself, was young and tended to act up every once in a while. It was often Tristan who had to be called to calm the creature since no one else was willing to venture close enough to the wild animal.

Tristan turned to his young comrade and growled, "Learn to take care of your own horse pup, or maybe you shouldn't be riding it." With that Tristan glided into the shadows that seemed to reach out to him even in the noon hour. There he would brood until his mood passed and would not have to listen to his brothers' comments. Slowly the scout eased himself into his solitude to wait on the morn. All Tristan knew for sure was that his life would change a great deal upon the morrow as he rode out of the village with a Roman citizen tethered to his saddle. This only proved to further anger the scout because he hated leaving things to fate. His life depended on knowing every detail and this woman seemed to destroy that luxury just with her presence.

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Once again sorry that it took me so long to update, hopefully the next chapter will come a little quicker. I hope you enjoyed this one.

What do you think of think of this side of Tristan? How do you like Tristan and Cassia's interaction?


	15. Herald of Death

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize.**

AN: Well Tristan gets back to his moody self in this one, so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to those who took the time to review. Please R&R!

Chapter 15 Herald of Death

Tristan sat on his dapple grey cutting pieces of a glossy green apple as he waited for the others to prepare for the ride home. He looked relaxed and almost bored as he allowed his steed to wander in order to graze on nearby patches of grass. Tristan had the dark hood of his cloak pulled over his head and the rest of his cloak hung over his horse's back and down its sides. In the misty predawn light with streaks of lightning passing behind him, Tristan looked like the herald of death. This ominous scene would have frightened the most hardened of warriors, but this was simply Tristan in all his glory. This was the first image Cassia saw of him as she emerged from the inn. She felt a chill run down her spine as she watched him move liquidly over the dead earth. Stopping in her tracks, Cassia decided to fetch something to eat before condemning herself to his service for the rest her weary days.

Tristan watched as Cassia passed through the veil of fog then disappeared within it once again. He could sense her apprehension as she gazed upon his silhouette. He himself probably would not have approached such an ill-omened creature, although his reasons would not have sprung from fear. He could feel Dagonet approach from the stable as he continued to allow his horse to wander about.

"We leave presently," Dagonet said as he stood beside the dapple grey coming up to Tristan's shoulder even though he was only standing where as Tristan was on horseback. "Are you waiting for something," Dag questioned as he peered into the fog.

"She will come," Tristan rasped nearly silently as he kicked his horse into a trot into the stables to retrieve his saddlebags. Dagonet followed the scout lazily and handed the bags up to him so that Tristan wouldn't have to aggravate his leg by getting on and off his horse. Tristan simply nodded as he took the bags and placed them over the saddle and secured them.

"Who will come," Dagonet casually asked as he handed over the last satchel. Tristan just threw him a look that said 'you know of who I speak.' "Why is she coming?"

"She will come," Tristan said again as the others mounted up and began to head out of the stable. Dagonet just shook his head at his brother and mounted up. All of the knights lined up in the courtyard as the fog began to disperse.

"Knights, we ride back to the wall. Tristan," Arthur called to his scout as Tristan allowed his horse to wander up to his commander. "You need not ride ahead, but keep a close eye to the surroundings I don't want any trouble." Tristan just nodded as he turned his horse around to head to the back of the line. There, standing beside the stables, was the desolate figure of a honey haired martyr awaiting her fate. She stood without her usual pride as she wrapped her arms around herself to block out the morning chill. She looked so humble, as she slowly trudged through the mud toward the line of knights. Her head hung low as she stood before Tristan carrying only a sack around her back and a small basket holding several pieces of fruit and bread. She slowly raised the basket in offering to Tristan.

The other knights stood watching in awe at what they beheld. Even the pagan knights could not help but think that the dark gate keeper was standing before an angel. Tristan sat above her like the shadow of death, and she stood beneath him in tattered cloth and golden presence of an innocent. The clearing fog revealed the gates of the village to look like the gates to the underworld, and more than one knight shuddered at the thought of what fate held for this humble woman.

"Tis quite early, milord, and I thought you might like something to eat," she bowed her head in a gesture of her surrendering herself to him, that only he could appreciate. Tristan simply nodded as he took the proffered gift from his new slave. Tristan offered no thanks to Cassia for her troubles; he simply handed her a set of shackles for her wrists. She just nodded her head and allowed him to tether her to his pommel.

Upon seeing this, Arthur spoke up. "Tristan what is this," he said in his most commanding of tones.

Tristan turned to his commander not even bothering to stop his knotting as he replied. "Securing my property," the scout said in his sardonic voice. He said it more for Cassia's ears than for his comrades, but each of them looked at him in shock as though he said it to them personally. Even Dagonet was not expecting that answer to come from the dark scout. "Shall we ride," Tristan said lazily as he kicked his mount into a slow gait. Cassia was jerked forward by the horse's movement but found that Tristan had given her enough lead that she would not be dragged along.

"Tristan, what is the meaning of this," Arthur question barely keeping his voice below a roar. The commander of the Sarmatian knights had brought his men to this village hoping to avoid trouble but here it was tied to Tristan's saddle.

"A slave," Tristan replied as he and Cassia passed the others. Cassia's head was bent low in shame as she was forced to follow the man that she owed her life to, not once but twice. Tristan glanced back at his companions as they stared at his back with their mouths agape due to his indifference to the situation.

"Tristan, we do not take slaves. We have stopped many a slave trader passing through the fort and now you wish to become one of them," Arthur paused as he tried to understand what was going on. "What happened to you Tristan? You were my finest scout. The best I had ever seen, and now…" Arthur didn't get to finish his assertion because Tristan interrupted.

"I do not seek to trade her. She comes with me willingly. Do you not," Tristan asked of Cassia as he took a bite out of one of the apples she had brought him. Cassia simply nodded her head without looking at any of the other knights. She was too ashamed of herself to look at these men who she had wronged so greatly. She was ever grateful to Tristan for not revealing her identity because she was sure that if the others knew who she was they would kill her on the spot. At least as a slave she had the breath in her lungs and the beat in her chest. That was more than many who had faced the knights could say.

"Tristan, this is madness," Lancelot called from his place beside Arthur. All of the knights nodded in agreement as Lancelot reprimanded the distant scout. "You cannot go about taking poor lasses to be your slaves. Where is you honor," Lancelot emphasized the last part knowing that it would cut the scout. Though Tristan did not show it, Lancelot's comment hit him like a blow to the chest.

Cassia heard the others voicing their agreement with Lancelot's claims and further insulting Tristan's honor and sanity. She could take no more when she heard one of them refer to Tristan as deranged. He may have had a bit of a blood lust, but Cassia was not so willing to call him as disturbed as such. She knew she would regret it and that Tristan would probably hate her more for it, but Cassia opened her mouth. "I come willingly I assure you, sir knights. If anyone is dishonorable or witless, it is I. I am in debt of my life and have agreed to serve him as payment." Cassia, for the first time, looked up at the knights surrounding her. They looked down at her with varying degrees of pity and compassion. She quickly bowed her head again and shuffled closer to Tristan's steed. Even though she and the scout were at odds, he was still more familiar than the others and therefore a comfort to her.

Tristan saw her shame as Cassia tried her hardest to disappear behind his mount. He refused to pity the woman for she had brought this upon herself, but he was not so cruel as to display her pain for all to see. Gone was the fearless wench who willingly tossed a drink in his face. She had been replaced by a quieter and wearier lady. Tristan quickly maneuvered his steed between her and the others and ended any further arguments. "She is of no concern of yours. If you do not like her traveling with us then ignore her. If you cannot ignore her then it is your own quandary to deal with," Tristan said in a menacing tone.

"Tristan I cannot allow this. We cannot be escorting ladies through Woad territories with barely enough supplies to protect ourselves. It is too dangerous and I will not let you endanger her," Arthur said, nobly trying to save the strange woman. Arthur would have followed Tristan to hell and back, but he knew no many women were willing to follow Tristan as far as his quarters never mind a far off fort.

"If she cannot accompany us then I shall slit her throat right her upon this earth. It matters little to me so long as her debt is repaid. But mind you, she had no trouble traveling between here and the Wall for six months prior to this. So I doubt her life or ours are in great danger," Tristan indifferently stated to his commander. Cassia cringed as he spoke of her travels to the Wall, knowing that they would surely figure out who she was.

"Tris…Tristan," Arthur was truly at a loss for words. He knew very acutely that nothing he would say or do would deter Tristan from this matter, and he didn't want to see the poor woman die. He also knew that Tristan would not insist so vehemently if it were not of importance. The woman had stated her consent, so Arthur did the only thing he could do. "Since she is under your service, I hold you to her protection. Whether she is a slave or not, you will protect her with your life as you would any of your brothers. I know not what she has done to warrant this enslavement, but you will explain in full when we reach the fort. Is that clear," Arthur spoke in his natural commanding tone, and Tristan simply nodded his head and began to turn to ride away. "And Tristan," Arthur called to his back, "Anymore surprises such as this or the sword and you shall be under house arrest unless we are on a mission." Arthur could see the tensing of his scout's shoulders at the thought of being caged like a captured animal. It was the only threat that Tristan still responded to and Arthur found himself considering it more and more often lately.

With that the knights, still grumbling over Tristan's heartlessness, began to head out of the village. Cassia followed briskly behind Tristan's horse, desperately trying not to fall back and get dragged the rest of the way. As the sun rose over the open terrain, nine mounted knights and one slave made their way back to Hadrian's Wall. None knew what would be in store for them because of a simple slave.

Not more than an hour outside of the village, it began to rain. It was not the gentle summer rain that some areas might receive, but it was cold, strong, and unrelenting. Cassia, wearing no cloak, was immediately drenched. The knights had pulled their cloaks closer to their bodies as soon as it began to downpour. Tristan glanced back at the woman who was trudging through a pretty deep puddle in nothing more than sopping rags.

"Do you not carry a cloak with you," he asked emotionlessly as he slowed his horse to walk beside her.

Cassia looked up at Tristan through the strands of hair that clung to her face. They were no longer golden in the rain, but a muddy brown color that did little to inspire more than pity in anyone. "The last time I saw my cloak, it was soaked in another's blood and lying on the ground beneath an unconscious stranger," Cassia bit out remembering how she had left the damn thing behind so she wouldn't disturb his slumber.

"Then this is yours, I believe," Tristan said as he quickly removed the cloak from around his shoulders and draped it over her own. "Mine was far from salvageable when I woke," he spoke in a raspy whisper. Tristan only gave up the cloak he wore because he did not need an ill slave to tend to. It was not wise to abuse one's investments lest they lose their value.

"I do not need your charity," Cassia said even though she huddled further into the material.

"Just as I do not need your belongings," Tristan countered. Tristan inwardly smirked as he realized that her courage came back when no one could hear them. "I suggest watching out for puddles if you wish not to turn your ankle," he said casually, but before Cassia could understand what he meant she was falling into a puddle of mud several inches deep. Tristan simply put his good foot out to prevent her from falling completely into the mud. Cassia glared up at him as he growled, "The cloak may help ward off the rain, but knee deep puddles are another story." With that said, Tristan kicked his horse to catch up to the others and nearly dragged Cassia behind him.

Cassia cursed the rain and the puddles, but most of all she cursed the damned scout that was so infuriating that she would have wrung his neck if she could have. The rain only poured hard at her curses, and the scout only rode faster. She glanced at his back one more time as she ran faster. Tristan rode hunched in the saddle steering with his knees even though he was not going very slowly. He had one of his various daggers in hand as he lazily cut through an apple flicking pieces into his mouth with the blade. His look was ominous although he seemed to belong in the saddle as a bird belongs in the sky. 'Even without the damn cloak he looks like the devil's harbinger,' she thought wryly as she attempted to catch up.

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I realize this is a shorter chapter, but I liked it and wanted to post it. I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter is pretty long, and I hope to get it up by Monday or Tuesday.

Do you think that Arthur and the knights' reactions were believable? What do you think of Tristan's tethering and humiliating Cassia?

Please Review, it helps inspire me.


	16. Frustrations on the Journey Home

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the things that you may recognize.**

AN: Thank you to my reviewers, you have inspired me to update sooner than I had expected. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please R&R.

Chapter 16 Frustrations on the Journey Home

They had been riding briskly all morning and Cassia was barely able to keep up at a jog. Arthur had offered to slow down a bit, but Cassia had insisted that she was fine. By the time the sun had reached the center of the sky, she was no longer feeling those sentiments. She was no longer running beside Tristan, but she had fallen behind and was practically being dragged behind him. Tristan, however, was in slightly better spirits now that they had left the village and the rain had stopped. Though, he was constantly keeping a close eye on Cassia as well as their surroundings as they went. He could tell that she wouldn't last much longer if they didn't stop for a break soon.

No sooner did the thought cross his mind than Cassia stumbled. Tristan's horse halted immediately and circled back to where Cassia had fallen in the mud again. Cassia looked the part of a tramp as she lay exhausted in the mud. Her hair was matted with sweat and dirt. Her dress was saturated and torn beyond repair, and her feet were by far the worst of all. They were bare, bleeding, muddy, and would become infected if not attended to immediately. Tristan noted all of this with a simple glance and before the others even realized she had fallen, Tristan had yanked her bindings so her arms were in his reach and lifted her into the saddle in front of him.

Cassia was exhausted and knew that she was in no condition to go on, but she refused to let Tristan have the satisfaction seeing her so weak. Her earlier submissive attitude had burned off like the morning fog and left her only angry at he state circumstances and pain. Once he had seated her in front of himself, she began to protest.

"I am not a cripple; I can walk on my own," she stated between clenched teeth wanting to be as far from hi as possible lest she said or did something that she would regret, such as the ale incident. Tristan, however, said nothing which only succeeded in infuriating Cassia further. "Please let me down. I can walk, _sir_," she emphasized the title out of anger but came out weaker that she had hoped. Tristan wasn't exactly one to be cowed by a woman half his size, unless she was a certain redhead with too many bastards running around, and that was only because she respected his privacy unlike any other woman he ever met.

"You will not be walking anywhere. Your feet are so raw that there is barely any flesh left on their soles," his stated calmly then leaned lower to hiss in her ear, "And your dress is so tattered that your modesty is no longer ensured when you take a step."

The other knights were finally brought to awareness of the situation when they heard a resounding slap come from the back of the lines. Cassia had not held back after hearing Tristan's insult, exactly what she had hoped to avoid. Tristan took the slap like he would if he were hit by a fly. He simply held her tighter when she attempted to slid out of the saddle.

"Looks like there is trouble in paradise," Gawain joked as he watched the exchange. The others laughed but it was tense because they were still uncomfortable with her presence.

"Arthur, brief rest." It was a question not a statement, but Tristan had never truly mastered the art of refined speech. He thought it was much easier to simply state what needed to be said. Arthur curtly nodded and instructed the others that they would be resting for a brief period for the sake of the girl.

Ten minutes later found Tristan sitting against a tree struggling to restrain Cassia while Dagonet cleansed her feet. Once the blood and mud was washed away, her feet were pink, raw, and swollen from being abused all morning. Tristan finally gave up in restraining her when she delivered an elbow to his nose. "Fine wench, be in pain," he grunted as he let go of her and went to tend his horse.

Cassia just spit in his direction as he moved off. She then calmed almost instantly allowing Dagonet to work uninhibited. "I now understand what you meant by we would be seeing much of each other," Dagonet attempted to make conversation. "You shouldn't try to anger him so much. He will treat you well if you do not test him."

"He enslaved me! Do you expect me to be overjoyed at the fact that I no longer have the freedom to make my own decisions," Cassia cried in indignation.

"Though you come willingly," Dagonet pointed out as he finished binding her feet.

"Only because if I didn't it would be my head. I may be a thief but I am not a fool."

"I beg to differ," came the booming voice of Arthur as he knelt beside her. "If I am correct in my belief, you must be the woman who was held captive by the Woads which attacked my scout. And if I am correct in that then you are also the one who stole his weapon… So am I correct," Arthur asked after a pause as he gave her a gentle yet firm glance.

Cassia simply nodded, and Arthur nodded to her in return. He shared a look with Dagonet over her head which silently shared all of their concerns over the scout's new "charge." Cassia didn't notice the commander or the healer's conversation. She was soon distracted as the other knights came to join them after tending to their own horses' needs.

"So, what do we have here? Could you not resist my charms, so you begged our dear brother Tristan to let you tag along," Lancelot asked cheerfully as he nudged Arthur over so that he could sit beside Cassia.

"Sir, I would not be surprised if women have begged to follow you home, but I can assure that I am not one of them," she stated calmly as the others also took a seat.

"So what does Tristan want with you then. You certainly aren't his type," Gawain paused, which allowed Kay to pick up.

"He goes for whores, quick and easy. You are obviously not a whore even though your attire leaves something to be desired," Kay clarified in his bluntly honest way, "unless you are Lancelot, then what you are wearing is even too much." Cassia caught the meaningful glance Kay was shooting at his friend, and then she saw the absolutely salacious look adorning Lancelot's features. Cassia was beginning to get uncomfortable.

"I am sorry if my attire leaves much to be desired, but I am not exactly wealthy anymore," she said as she tried to rise and move away from the crowding knights. No sooner had she gotten to her feet than she was falling from the excruciating pain in her feet. Before she could crumble to the ground again though, Gawain caught her and hoisted her into his arms.

"Looks like you won't be walking anywhere for a while," he smiled down at her. His crystal blue eyes sparkled in the midday light.

"I'm afraid that you are correct. My master will not be happy with this," she sighed into his shoulder feeling like the world was falling down upon her shoulders.

Gawain began to walk her toward the horses leaving the others to continue to chat without much disturbance. "You never told us why you are in Tristan's charge," Gawain kindly prodded as they departed the group.

"Ask Tristan, I am sure that he would be more than will to tell you, but my dignity cannot allow me to do so," she sighed once again as Gawain set her down in the grass beside his steed and then sat next to her.

"In case you haven't noticed, Tristan is not the most verbose of us knights, but I understand if you wish not to speak of it," Gawain reassured her as he removed a water-skin from his saddle bag and offered it to her. Cassia eagerly took it from his hands as he continued. "Tristan's been a bit off lately. Well actually he's always been a bit off," Gawain paused as Cassia choked on the water she was drinking due to his comment about Tristan. He patted her on the back gently before clarifying, "What I mean is that Tristan was never one to socialize or be friendly in general. He was broken in body and spirit when he came to us, and I don't think that he ever really recovered. He was close to one of the other knights, but Dinadan passed on nearly two years ago. Ever since then Tristan has barely even said more than three words together to any of us. He's still the best scout any of us have ever seen, but it's almost like he's forgotten how to live… Anyway, I'm rambling. It's just that we've been worried about him. Everyone makes jokes, but they care. Though it's not right that he took you, no matter what the reason," Gawain finished as he saw the scout appear from the forest with that unreadable expression ever present on his face.

Cassia wasn't sure if she should be touched by Gawain's concern or shocked by his revelation of Tristan. He had never struck her as the gentle type as be was almost as renowned as Lancelot for his wenching. Cassia just looked at him and genuinely smiled at his caring nature.

"Arthur," Tristan called as he mounted his horse. "There are Woads nearby, we must ride now." Arthur nodded, never questioning his trusted scout. Gawain was helping Cassia to her feet as Tristan rode up and pulled her up in front of him without a word. He gave Gawain a cold glance as he turned his horse and waited for the others to mount up. Cassia hadn't protested as he pulled her up in front of him. She had decided that she had had enough pain for one day and angering the scout was a sure fire way of being exposed to more pain. Tristan was not gentle as he pushed her about to get a firm grip on the reins in order to ride swiftly away from danger. As soon as the others were mounted, Tristan kicked his dappled gray into a hard gallop. Cassia had not been ready for the sudden jolt and had fallen back into Tristan's chest where she stayed as he guided his steed sharply through the winding and almost hidden paths of the dense forest. The others were close behind and it was only a matter of minutes before the blue demons were also close behind.

Cassia actually clung to Tristan's hauberk as they sped through the foliage. She could hear arrows whizzing through the air and war cries being called. She was absolutely terrified and didn't have time to think that she was clinging to the one man that she truly despised. Tristan, for the most part, ignored Cassia's clinging and just continued to ride. He did not fault the woman for being frightened. After all, she had nearly died by them once a second time probably wasn't what she had been looking forward to.

The group bolted out of the forest at full speed and continued riding until out of range of arrows. Arthur had taken the lead once they were out of the forest and soon slowed his stead to a gentle walk to make sure that none were harmed. Everyone was fine, though Cassia was a bit pale. Tristan quickly dismounted and remounted in front of her since there was not longer any danger of her being shot by an arrow. Tristan's leg felt as though it was on fire from the hard ride, but he refused to let anyone see his weakness. Cassia clung to his back without restraint as she was still very shaken from their narrow escape. "Woman you will be in greater danger if I pass out from lack of breath and we fall from this horse, so would you please loosen your damn arms," Tristan growled at her. He was actually very amused by her sudden change of attitude, not that anyone could tell.

As they rode in peace again the other knights took turns riding beside the scout to keep his prisoner company. Soon Gawain and Lancelot rode on either side having a jovial conversation with her. "It was quite frightening, I assure you," Gawain laughed heartily as he finished the story, "She had gotten so mad that she hacked all his hair of in the middle of the night. Lancelot was as bald as a baby for several weeks." Lancelot glared at Gawain as Cassia laughed loudly at their stories.

Tristan was getting more furious by the moment as the others cheerfully joked with the woman that had drugged them all and stolen his own sword. He was beginning to wonder why he had spared her, but then a flash of Isolde came to mind and he was even angrier. They were not two hours outside the wall when Cassia tried to get his attention. The other knights had fallen back because she was tired and was napping against Tristan's back for over an hour. Tristan was still furious and though he had paid close attention to ensure that Cassia would not fall, he was not about to talk to her.

"Tristan," she whispered almost shyly. Tristan gave no indication that he was listening but Cassia continued anyway. "Tristan, I must relieve myself." Tristan halted his horse immediately. Cassia thought that it was because he was honoring her request, but instead he threw her from the horse.

"Go then," He growled with a feral glint in his eye. Tristan could not even explain why her simple and shy request had angered him so. It was simply the final straw from the entire afternoon of troubles. Tristan had thought that once he had removed her from the village and was on the road that things would have gotten better, but he had made a grievous mistake. His brothers were not cold to her like he believed they would be, but they were friendly to the only person that had hurt them and lived. Tristan was fuming as he stared her down. "If you must relieve yourself, then do it."

The others stopped and Lancelot rode back to see what was the matter. "Cassia what is wrong," Lancelot asked concernedly to the Roman lying in the grass. Tears streamed down her face not only from the pain in her feet at being tossed from the horse but at Tristan's sudden change in mood. He had been quite gentle after the run in with the Woads, but all of a sudden he was cruel once again. Lancelot saw her tears and immediately dismounted to help her as he reprimanded the scout. "What happened Tristan? Must you make everyone upset just because you are a sullen bastard?"

"She does not need your help," Tristan hissed at his superior, only in rank.

"She cannot stand without aid. Of course she needs my help," Lancelot shouted at the scout.

"She got herself into this situation, she can take care of it herself," Tristan said as he slipped from the saddle to forcibly remove Cassia from Lancelot's grasp. By now the other knights had gathered around to see what the trouble was. No sooner had Tristan laid his gloved hand on Cassia's forearm than Lancelot's fist connected with his jaw. Tristan staggered back from the swift blow to the face. He had not expected Lancelot to hit him, and was now incensed that he had. Tristan dove at the dark knight only to tackle him and Cassia to the ground. Cassia quickly rolled away and Lancelot and Tristan exchanged blows as they rolled about in the thick grass. Tristan had never before gotten into a fight with a fellow knight, and the others were too shocked to do anything for several moments. Dagonet and Kay were the first to come to their senses and quickly pulled the two knights apart with all their strength.

Dagonet had to hold Tristan's arms behind his back in order to restrain him and Kay had to put Lancelot in a head lock to stop him. Both knights fought to be freed but soon stilled. Lancelot was released first. He had a cut to his lip and would have several bruises come evening, but was mostly no worse for wear. Tristan, on the other hand, was having trouble standing due to his already aggravated calf that had suffered more damage during the tumble. Tristan also had a swelling jaw and several bruises to his face. Arthur stepped between the two and somehow managed to glare at both of them at the same time though they were on opposite sides of him. It was quite menacing. "Lancelot, get back on your horse and stay there," he commanded. "Tristan, you will take the lady to relieve herself, and if I see any sign that you miss handled her I will, so help me God, dragged you back to the fort behind my own horse. Do you understand?"

Tristan just growled, but Arthur knew that he wouldn't disobey. Cassia did nothing as Tristan hoisted her over his shoulder. She just allowed him to carry her toward the edge of the forest without a fight. Tristan could barely carry her with the pain in his leg, but he refused to let anyone see that he was still in pain. He would let Arthur believe that his little trip healed all of his wounds.

Five minutes later, Tristan's horse suddenly split from the pack of grazing horses. Moments later, it returned carrying Tristan and Cassia casually toward the waiting pack. Lancelot was still glaring daggers at Tristan as they began to move once again. Tristan just ignored Lancelot and the others who were giving him wide berth. Cassia was silently wallowing in her own pain. This continued in silence until the fort was once again in sight. As though the shroud had been lifted, the knights began to joke as though nothing had happened. Bors began speaking about his bastards and Lancelot began claiming several of them as his own. Cassia slowed her tears as she felt Tristan's low gravelly grunt that served as a laugh. His previously stiff and stern demeanor was now more relaxed and less menacing. Cassia felt him readjust her arms to hold him more firmly around his waist as they began to descend the hill toward the wall. Cassia couldn't tell what came over them when the fort was in sight, but she was not about to complain. It was like seeing the beacon of hope that raised their tattered spirits.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

What did you think? Was Tristan in character? What about the other knights?

I hope you enjoyed it, but tell me what you liked or didn't like!


	17. Home of Sorts

**Disclaimer: I still don't own any of the characters that you recognize and most likely never shall.**

AN: Sorry that it has taken some time to update. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a bit lighter that the last few. Thank you to my reviewers and please continue to let me know what you think!

Chapter 17 Home of Sorts

"Last one there buys the ale," Galahad called behind his back as he set out at a breakneck speed down toward the gates of the Wall. Everyone knew that this contest was only between him and Gawain so they leisurely took off down the hill placing bets on who would be buying drinks this night. Smart money was on Gawain even though Galahad was the better horseman. This of course meant that Lancelot's money was on Galahad because though he did it often, he was a terrible gambler.

"I propose Galahad shall finally win today," Lancelot said as he removed a coin from his person, making a large show of it. This was to cover up the fact that it was his last coin, and he wished to avoid ribbing from the others.

"Gawain as usual," Bors roared as he too produced his coin.

"Gawain," Kay and Percival each put in.

"Galahad," came the quiet voice of Dagonet.

"But Dag, you can't bet," Bors protested. "Who is going to hold the money, if you are part of this?"

"Why doesn't our lovely companion hold the money," Lancelot said as he turned in the saddle to smile at Cassia who looked at him in shock.

"Good, good," Bors cried.

"I really can't," Cassia tried to protest as each knight rode by handing her their coin. "Sirs, it is not my place to…"

"You just give the coins to those who win. I understand that you are Roman, but there is nothing terribly challenging in that now is it," Lancelot asked with a wry smile.

Tristan grunted as Cassia silently accepted the wagers. Once the other knights' attention was diverted, she handed him the pouch containing their coins. "Perhaps it is best if you hold on to their money. I wouldn't know what to do with it anyway," she offered as Tristan simply tucked the pouch into his saddle bag with a curt nod.

Gawain let out a fearsome roar as he kicked his charger into a sprint down the familiar trail home. Gawain may not have had Galahad's skill and control on horseback, but Gawain made up for that by shear force. His horse went barreling down the hill after Galahad's and within moments Gawain was tackling Galahad out of his saddle and rolling down the hill toward the Wall. Galahad wasn't as bulky as Gawain and therefore could not get the upper hand as they wrestled their way through the tall grass. Gawain was in the process of pinning Galahad to the ground as the other knights began to ride by.

"Hurry it up Pup, I've got money riding on this," Lancelot offered as he rode by beside Arthur who just rolled his eyes at his youngest knights. The knights rode through the gates and into the courtyard long before Gawain and Galahad arrived.

Cassia huddled further into the cloak that Tristan had given her in order to keep her modesty intact. Cassia cowered behind him as they entered the fort. Several guards gawked at her as they road into the courtyard at a leisurely pace. Tristan felt Cassia's already tight grip on his ribs get tighter as people began to stare.

"Get her settled Tristan," Arthur offered as the remaining knights began to dismount. "This may take a while," Arthur was referring to how long it would take for the younger knights to finally give up their contest and arrive at the fort so that Arthur could give any final orders.

With a nod to Arthur, Tristan didn't stop in the courtyard but rode straight to the stables to avoid stares. Cassia was frightened as Tristan guided them away from the group. She wasn't very fond of the idea of the two of them alone because his moods did change so rapidly these days.

Tristan rode right into the stables and halted in front of an empty stall. The stables hadn't changed since the last time Cassia had been in them. From her spot on Tristan's horse she could see her favorite rafter to sit on. It was just over his horse's stall and it gave one a full view of the entire stable. She had missed the smell of hay and horses during her short absence from the fort. Though Cassia had never been fond of such large and powerful creatures, she missed the quiet evenings she had sat in the rafters watching the knights and Tristan specifically sit tending their steeds. Cassia didn't even realize that she was daydreaming until Tristan cleared his throat.

He waited a moment before asking, "Are you getting off?" His voice wasn't harsh or cruel in anyway, but he was his usual taciturn self.

"Sorry," Cassia whispered as she went to slip out of the saddle, but she was stopped by Tristan who gently lifted her down to Jols who had quickly approached as they entered the stables. Jols was gentle as he held her while Tristan dismounted then took Cassia into his own arms. Jols took Tristan's reins and Tristan nodded to him as he carried her toward the barracks. Everyone seemed to get out of the scout's way as he headed through the market.

As they entered Tristan's room, he quickly kicked the door shut and put her on the cot. The first thing that Cassia saw was the small emerald charm that sat upon the ledge above his bed. "You kept it," she asked in shock. He had been so cruel for the past few days, but he had cared for her charm like it was his own. Tristan glanced to the bracelet but said nothing. He left her on the bed and went to the chest that kept his weapons. Cassia peered over the edge of the cot to see what he was looking for, and she saw him retrieve a different pair of shackles than the one's she had been tied to the saddle with. He had removed the others once he lifted her into the saddle because he no longer had to worry about her trying to escape. These ones, however, were just cuffs that had thick loops in them for attaching to a chain if need be. She remembered seeing them when she had stolen the sword, but she didn't realize that he might actually use them. Tristan tossed the shackles on the bed and lifted a small hammer and spikes.

"Sit at the edge," he instructed her rather calmly. He seemed exhausted as he pulled the lone chair next to the cot facing Cassia. "Wrist," he said as he pointed to her right wrist. Gently he took her small wrist in his large yet deft hands and placed the cuff of the shackle around it. He was very gentle as he put the spike through the loops of the shackle to close it. "The other," he said as soon as the first was closed. Cassia lifted her wrist slowly and he took it just as gently and repeated the process. "We'll go to the smithy later to get them sealed," he said dejectedly as he rose from his seat. Cassia watched Tristan as he replaced the tools in his chest and the chair to its table. He removed his sword and scabbard from his back and placed them in the chest as well. He proceeded to remove several daggers, a boot knife, and numerous pointy objects from his person. Cassia watched in amazement at what he had hidden in his armor. It was no wonder that he was rarely caught unaware. Tristan ran his hand through his hair as he moved to the bed and sat beside her.

"So I take it that I am going to get chained to things when I misbehave," Cassia joked as Tristan lay back across the bed. "But don't you think that they're a bit big," she said as she nearly slipped one of her hands out of the oversized cuffs.

"They are simply to ensure that you know your place. Those were mine at my first post. The Roman commander made all of the Sarmatians wear shackles just so that we'd know that we were, in truth, his slaves," Tristan said as he once again sat up and began to remove his boots. Cassia wasn't sure as to what she should say. Her mind was angered that he was shackling her simply to show that she was his slave. Her heart, on the other hand, felt for him because of the cruel treatment that he had had to endure by those he put his life on the line for daily. Cassia decided to say nothing and instead just watch him.

Tristan rolled the leg of his pants up to reveal his calf that still showed a nasty mark from the arrow. This lower leg was swollen, and it looked quite painful. Tristan felt the muscles and prodded them without showing any sign of discomfort. Cassia cringed when he quickly stood on his injured leg and strode with only the barest of limps to his table. From it, he retrieved several lengths of cloth and the basin of water that was ever present. On his way back to the cot, he unlatched the newly replaced window. Within moments, his hawk was perched on a bar that hung across the window pane. Neither the bird nor Tristan paid any attention to the other as though their company could be simply enjoyed without any superficial communication. They were well aware of each other as they tended to react to the others actions without even realizing it, but they didn't go out of their way to interact. Both were wild in Cassia's eyes and they simply coexisted with each other because it suited their needs. However, she did not know the delicacies of the arrangement, or the fierce loyalty that both man and bird possessed for one another.

Tristan slowly eased himself back onto the bed and began to tend to his injuries. Tristan quickly wrapped his calf with a length of cloth then washed the cuts and scrapes on his face. He didn't even seem to notice when the cloth caught one of the scabs and tore it, causing his lip to bleed again. He simply let it bleed as he rolled up the used cloth and threw it over to the table. He then stood and poured water into a pot and placed it over the weak fire. He quickly tossed a few logs onto it and the flames were dancing within moments. Once the water was warmed, Tristan poured it into the basin that had previously held cool water. He turned to the cot and simply said, "Remove the bandages." Cassia was surprised that he had heated the water for her, but he quickly squelched any ideas that he was being kind. "A slave is useless if it cannot walk." Cassia slowed in her removal of the bandages when they began to stick to her fragile skin.

Tristan saw that she was having trouble and came to her aid. He placed the basin on the floor beside the bed then took one of her feet in his hand. Gently he removed each of the bandages without causing her any unnecessary pain. Cassia wasn't sure if he was always like this or if he was being extra gentle, somehow she doubted he would go out of his way for her comfort. Once the bandages had come off, Tristan lifted her legs and spun her so that they hung over the edge of the bed once again. Then he gently placed them in the warm water to soak. Cassia let out a slight sigh as she felt the soothing water envelop her sore feet. She just smiled at Tristan as he stood and wiped his hands on his beeches.

There was a slight knock on the door, but Tristan didn't answer it. "We meet at the table. You will stay here. If you do not, I will show you what those shackles are used for," Tristan turned to leave but stopped in the doorway. "We will discuss your duties when I return," he said quickly as he left the room and shut the door. Cassia watched the door close silently. She knew that Tristan would not have left her untied if she were able to escape. Sadly, her feet were so raw and swollen that she knew she would not be walking for several days, possibly weeks. Cassia decided to forget her troubles for a few minutes as she lie back on the bed and let her feet soak in the wonderful heat.

XxX

I know this chapter is a bit short, but I promise to have the next up either tomorrow or the next day.

I hope you enjoyed the interaction in this chapter. Tell me what you think of it! Your comments are always welcome and cherished.


	18. Fires that Shape still Burn

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

AN: Thank you to my reviewers. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! So please read and let me know what you think.

Chapter 18 Fires that Shape still Burn

Tristan entered the table room once everyone had already seated themselves. He walked slowly to avoid his limp, and seated himself in his usual place. Arthur immediately began the interrogation. "Tristan I do not approve of this. I do not care what she has done; it does not warrant such treatment from you. I would have thought that you above all of us would value freedom enough not to cage another human being. You don't tether your hawk," Arthur began.

"The hawk never stole from me or drugged me, and the Hawk isn't mine to tether," Tristan stated with indifference.

"She is not yours to tether either," Arthur argued even though he knew it would be fruitless.

"What is this about swords and drugs," Kay asked innocently.

"She was the thief, albeit reluctant. She drugged you and stole my sword," Tristan admitted calmly as though he had long ago come to terms with the statement.

Gawain sputtered as he asked, "A woman stole your sword?" Tristan said nothing to that but instead turned to Arthur. Gawain continued to grumble about sneaky wenches who aren't worth the trouble as Tristan continued.

"I will not let her go. This is not about a sword. It is about a debt, one that will not pay itself," Tristan's words were final. The others just stared at him then Lancelot spoke.

"You damn well better not let her go. I will not be made such a fool as to be drugged and not have my revenge. Woman or not, she will pay!" Lancelot was becoming red with fury as his hands twitched to hold a blade to her throat.

"Tis funny that only hours ago, you were speaking with her like one would an intimate friend," Tristan replied to Lancelot's change of attitude.

"She has our coin," Kay said rather incredulously. "We gave a thief our hard earn coin, and you said nothing?"

"She does not have your coin, I do," Tristan said coolly as Kay diverted the conversation away from seriousness.

"Good then because I want mine back," Lancelot growled coldly at the scout.

"Who won," Tristan asked indifferently already knowing the answer.

"We gave up and came in together," sighed Gawain as he sat back with his drink mulling over what Tristan had revealed. He had liked the wench from the beginning, but he could not forgive such an offense.

"If no one was deemed the winner, I believe the coin is mine," Tristan smiled coldly. Tristan smiled inwardly because without that coin Lancelot could purchase neither drink nor wench for the evening, the perfect revenge for his earlier disrespect. There were many shouts for the returning of pay, but it was a well known rule that if the competition was considered void then the bearer of the purse kept it because they could not bet themselves. The others were woken from the grumbling by Percival's cold voice.

"Where is she," was all that Percival said. Tristan knew immediately that Percival would murder her with his bare hands if he could because he would try to blame her in some way for Lamorak's death, if for no other reason than for the fact that she did not respect his passing.

Arthur immediately halted any other accusations, "None of you will touch her. Her debt is with Tristan even if I do not approve of this. Anyone who touches a hair on her head will answer to me," Arthur said as he stood up. "And Tristan, that goes for you too. I do not wish to see the poor woman come to any harm. She is, after all, a citizen of Rome."

Tristan nodded humbly to his commander then was promptly released to go back to his quarters. When Tristan arrived back at his room, he was greeted with the sight Vanora fussing around a bathing Cassia. Tristan entered without a second thought as to propriety.

Vanora saw Tristan as he entered his room and forgot the woman in the tub as she turned on the scout. "I come in here to see to your mending and I find this poor thing on the bed. She looks half mad in the condition you left her. Now get out, it's improper for you to be in here while she is bathing," Vanora shouted in an exasperated tone.

Tristan said nothing as he hobbled past unable to completely conceal the limp after all he had been through during the day. Tristan sat upon his cot just across from the tub that had been brought in and now held Cassia. "You've met Vanora," it was a statement not a question. Cassia simply nodded as she tried to maintain some bit of decency as he could easily see into the water if he wished it. Vanora was still over to the side fuming at Tristan's lack of manners.

"Brute," Van said as she walked past the scout to block his view of his "property" and aided the woman in washing her filthy hair. Tristan ignored Vanora's anger and lay back on his cot while Cassia bathed. Once finished Vanora spoke up, "Do you have anything else to wear, lass?" At Cassia's shake of her head Vanora huffed. "Scout," she said in a commanding voice that only she could get away with.

"Yes, Van," Tristan answered though he looked as if he had fallen asleep on the bed. He lay back with his feet propped up on the chest that had been moved to accommodate the tub and his hair covered his face so one could not tell if he were truly asleep or just feigning. His golden eyes opened as slits making him truly look like a cat who couldn't be bothered to care what was going on.

"She'll need to borrow one of your tunics and breeches until I can get her some decent dresses," Vanora said with the authority that only a mother of several unruly children could hold. Tristan looked annoyed with his hair falling all over and his tunic half tucked, as he rose from the bed. "That is unless you would rather her walk around here in nothing but a tattered shift," Vanora finished angrily.

"Woman, please. I will find her something suitable. Do not pester me like you would your lover," Tristan growled as he approached his clothes chest at a slow and weak pace. Tristan quickly found a tunic that was too snug on him and a pair of breeches that he had out grown. Both articles were of an earthen green color that would compliment Cassia's olive skin, though Tristan knew naught of such things. As Tristan slowly made his way back to Vanora, who was only mere feet away, she noticed how much his limp had grown just since the time that he arrived.

"Tris, I told you, you would go cripple if you didn't take it easy. As soon as we are finished here, I expect you to take a hot bath to ease that cramping," she scolded him as he handed her the clothes. "Foolish men, think they are invincible," she grumbled to Cassia as she held a towel for the girl to wrap herself in. Tristan had the decency to ignore the two and lay back down. Cassia quickly wrapped herself and waited as Vanora braided her long brown hair.

"You said that we would discuss my duties," Cassia said from the chair she sat in.

"We have all evening," Tristan replied in an exhausted voice.

"Seems to me that you won't be in the realm of consciousness for much more of the evening," Cassia countered coldly. Vanora silently watched the two clearly aiming to kill with their remarks.

"My state of consciousness is none of your concern, wench."

"Well if you had told me my duties, I would have known that," Cassia hissed as Vanora finished the plait down her back. When Tristan didn't send back another snide remark Cassia changed the subject. "Would you grant me the decency to at least let me dress in peace?" Cassia still received no reply and figured that the scout had indeed fallen asleep. Vanora knew better than to be so naïve, but she wasn't going to be the one to tell the poor woman before her that her master rarely slept when alone, never mind in the presence of another. Vanora just stood between the two and aided Cassia to dress. Once finished, Vanora excused herself. "There ye are, lass. I'll be seeing you round once ye get settled, but I have to go take care of the tavern right now. Hungry men don't feed themselves, nasty brutes," she said lightly. "Good luck with him, lass. Don't argue too much, and he'll treat you well." With that, Vanora slipped out of the room.

Cassia moved slowly, trying not to wake the scout, to retrieve her bracelet from the shelf. "I see that your feet are feeling better," Tristan said in his low rumble. This caused Cassia to jump and fall, joining him on the bed. "I also see that you prefer emeralds over shackles," Tristan pointed to her now bare wrists.

"I thought you were asleep," Cassia sputtered as she tried, and failed, to get away from the scout. Tristan simply grabbed her and flipped her onto her back beneath him. She felt the air leave her lungs as he let all his weight rest on her.

"As a scout one learns deception is often a necessary tactic in order to continue breathing. But if I were you, I would save all the breathe I could because it is a precious commodity to one in your situation," Tristan silenced her before she could protest. "I do not like being toyed with or lied to. So if you feel the need to do either, I suggested slitting your own throat because I am sure that the death I choose for you will not be so pleasant." Tristan stood quickly showing no signs of limp or fatigue and pulled Cassia up next to him. He then pushed her toward the door. "If you are so opposed to my shackles, then we shall fit you with your own," he said as they exited the room.

Cassia walked silently ahead of Tristan. Her mind slowly realized that he could have been watching her dress the entire time. Tristan as if reading her mind replied, "As I told you before, revenge is unimportant. Your modesty is yet to be defiled." Cassia let out a sigh of relief. She could not bear to be taken advantage of by the scout, perhaps because she had thought him noble enough to give up her freedom for. However, Cassia herself had not been noble enough not to gaze upon the scout's body while he was incapable of protest. Many times as she had tended for the knight she had gazed upon his fit body as she bathed or stretched him. She had not really paid attention to his body at the time because he was her patient and she could not afford to be distracted, but now she could recall his toned body with the simplest thought.

Tristan knew that she was thinking about something he didn't want to know as they walked toward the smithy. Her silence was the key to reading her. If she was silent, she was thinking, and if she was thinking trouble was brewing. As the walked through the dusky streets, Tristan watched out for any Roman soldiers. There was no need to invite any added trouble to this experience. Once she was shackled, the Romans would treat her as any other slave, but while she still walked free, she had an air of independence that didn't exist in slaves. Tristan shoved Cassia through a long alley to avoid several soldiers on patrol. They ignored him, thinking that it was just his usual wench from the tavern.

The alley came out just before the smithy which was closing for the evening, but that didn't stop Tristan from entering without a word. The blacksmith just nodded at the pair as they entered. Cassia ducked her head and prayed that he wouldn't come over. When no one came to help them, Cassia turned to Tristan. "Why does no one come to help you?"

"Erik allows me to work on my own weapons. My father taught me when I was just a boy, and I have not let another tend my belongings since," Tristan replied as he stopped at a kiln at the far corner of the shop. He motioned for Cassia to sit on a small stool beside the fire, but she continued to stand. "If you sit, there is less chance you will move and burn yourself while I am fitting you," Tristan attempted to get her to sit.

"I don't like being so close to the fire," Cassia replied as she gazed into the flames with a look of nostalgia.

"Women," Tristan grunted as he pulled the stool away from the fire and motioned for her to sit and be quiet. Tristan retrieved an old shackle that had been busted and brought it to the flame. He began melting it and reshaping it slowly. Soon he removed his tunic and after a half an hour of silence he spoke. "If you are going to continue to stare, could you do it in a different direction," Tristan asked in a growl. Cassia immediately snapped back to reality and looked the other way. She mumbled an apology, but Tristan didn't care. "Your duties," Tristan sighed as he took the metal off the heat and began reshaping it again.

"My duties," Cassia agreed now slightly interested and nervous. She began to play with the hem of the tunic that he had given her as she waited for him to elaborate.

"You do washing," he stated without looking up, but instead continued to hit the metal with a skilled stroke of the hammer.

"Yes, I was the laundress at my previous place of employment, and I did the inn's laundry at the village," Cassia breathed a sigh of relief as she realized that he was going to give her normal duties. She had heard of slaves being used for _other_ purposes and had dreaded that he might use her for such sins.

"Then you shall tend the knights quarters. Vanora used to do our washing and mending, but ever since she had number five, she's taking it easy and just run the tavern," Tristan replied as he put the newly reshaped shackle into a basin of water to cool.

"Oh, I don't mend. I can barely find the right end of the needle," Cassia said nervously.

"My back begs to differ," Tristan said sarcastically as he still felt the pull of the newly healed skin. "If you cannot, then you shall learn. You will also be responsible for any tasks I ask of you. If one of the other knights asks something of you, you shall obey. That is unless, it is Lancelot and he is asking you to share his bed. In that case you shall refuse," Tristan ground out. "As the others have already told you, if you behave you will be treated well. If you fight me all the way, I will not hesitate to discipline you. You shall be staying in my rooms until further notice. You will have two hours a day to tend to your own needs. When I am away, you shall be confined to the knights' barracks unless I say otherwise. Vanora shall see to it that you are fed three meals a day and are properly clothed. She is also the one to see if you have any womanly problems, as I refuse to deal with such things. Do you understand," Tristan finished and looked up to see if Cassia had heard everything.

Cassia just nodded in resignation, and Tristan lifted the shackle out of the water. He slowly walked over to her and motioned to her wrist. Cassia held it out without complaint. Tristan opened it and secured it around her wrist. It fit perfectly and Cassia gasped as she looked at it. It was very simple, but the fact that Tristan could size it perfectly without placing it around her wrist for fit was amazing. Tristan just grunted and took it back to the bench he worked at.

"You are free to wander about the shop as everyone has left for the day," Tristan said as he went back to work with a second manacle. Cassia simply rose from the stool and began to wander away. Everyone had indeed left even the smith, himself, had gone home for the night. Evidently, Tristan was either well liked or highly respected among the people. Either that or he scared them into submission. "If anything is missing in the morning, they will know who took it," Tristan called over his shoulder as he worked. Cassia huffed, but continued without a second thought.

It seemed like days had passed when Tristan finally called her to return to the corner. As she approached, she saw him in the glow of the fire. Tristan was covered in sheen of sweat from working so hard for so long. His usually tussled hair was more unruly than usual, and his breathing was a bit labored. He looked exhausted as he stood holding a shackle in each hand. Cassia could not see his face, but she imagined it to be as unreadable as usual. "You called," she said as she sat upon the stool once more.

Tristan didn't say anything as he approached. He placed one shackle around each wrist then beckoned her to stand. Tristan then kicked the stool nearer to the fire and motioned for her to sit again. Cassia did with little protest, but she still did not like the idea of being so close to the open flame. She had seen many a man in Rome that had horrible scars from coming in contact with such a flame. Tristan took a spike and heated it over the flame for several moments then brought it to her outstretched hand. He shoved it through the rings in the shackle and then hammered it into place. The shackle was sealed until he decided that it could be removed. Cassia couldn't watch as the process was repeated with her other wrist.

When Tristan was finished he went back to cleaning up his work area. This gave Cassia a chance to inspect his work. As she looked at the shackles she noticed a delicate etching that went around them. They were finely crafter considering that he did them in one night. "The etching marks them as mine," She heard him from where he sat at the bench cleaning his tools. Cassia looked up to see him working calmly as though he belonged at that table. Then she looked back to her wrists. The shackles looked almost ornamental from the outside because of his craftsmanship. Cassia was just satisfied that they fit well and wouldn't hurt much. Tristan hadn't even caught her skin as he closed and secured them.

When Tristan was finished cleaning the bench, he stood and smothered the fire before guiding her out. As they walked out of the smithy, Cassia realized that predawn light was beginning to sneak into the sky. "We were there all night," she inquired.

Tristan just grunted and said, "You may sleep until midday. I expect Vanora will want to fit you for some dresses around then. After that you will begin your chores. I expect that they will all be tended to before the sunsets." With that Tristan guided her up to his room. As they entered he pointed to his own small cot, "You may sleep there for now. I must scout this morning, but I will be back by noon to make sure that you have risen," Tristan then shut the door and headed back out of the barracks toward the stables.

Cassia stared at the door as he left. Tristan had been up all night and probably most of the previous night, but he still went out to scout. Not to mention, he still walked with a pronounced limp that didn't seem to be healing with any great speed. Tristan astounded Cassia because he was as simple as his room. He didn't have much, but what he did, had a purpose. Tristan didn't say or do much, but what he did had a point that didn't beat around the bush. He was straight forward and to the point like a deadly weapon. Cassia didn't know if this would prove an asset or a curse, but it fascinated her none the less.

XxX

So what did you think of this one? Was everyone in character? What of the knights' reactions? Do you like the pace of the story or does it drag too much?


	19. Words of Wisdom

**Disclaimer: I still do not own anything that you recognize.**

Chapter 19 Words of Wisdom

Cassia woke just before noon and immediately began her duties. There was no reason to incur the scout's wrath for her first task. She would simply do what was asked of her and be done with it. Cassia started by gathering the dirty and worn-out tunics and breeches that the scout had lying about his room. She then slowly walked out of their quarters and down the knights' hall. Her feet were ablaze with pain, but she continued on telling herself she would let them soak while she washed the clothing.

Cassia first came to Dagonet's room which was curiously unlocked. She found the large healer sitting on his bed cleaning one of his several weapons. He looked up slowly and smiled gently as he saw who it was. He gestured for her to come to him and she gracelessly did as she was asked. Sitting beside Dag she asked, "Do you have any clothes that need washing or mending. I am making the rounds."

"Over there," he pointed with the dagger he was currently sharpening. "How are your feet feeling," Dag asked as she hobbled to retrieve his clothes and add them to the sack of clothes she had already collected.

"Tender, but nothing I can't handle," she replied as she threw the clothes into the sack.

"You shouldn't be up and walking on them yet."

"Some of us don't have the luxury to rest and heal. Tristan told me to do this and you are the one always telling me not to anger the poor sod ," she said as she reclaimed her seat beside the much larger knight. "So does everyone know," she asked timidly.

"They know," he confirmed, "None too happy about it either. Just ignore the remarks they'll throw at you today; they'll cool down tomorrow and you'll just be another lass to try to woo." Dagonet patted her gently on the back and helped her stand. Cassia just nodded to him and took her leave.

The next room that she went to was that of Galahad's. He wasn't in the room but she had no trouble finding plenty of filthy clothes strewn about the room. She laughed to herself as she tried to separate the filthy clothes from the wearable ones other wise he would have nothing to wear until she finished. Being so young when he was taken, Galahad must never have learned the value of order. Cassia pitied the woman who would be his wife one day. She was sure to have her work cut out for her.

Cassia quickly slipped from Galahad's room to Kay's. Kay sat reading a book when she entered his quarters with her laundry in tow. He looked up from his reading giving her a cold and intense glare that made her want to shrink back out of the room. His stare was almost as unnerving as Tristan's when he wanted it to be.

"Your wash," Cassia found herself asking timidly, hoping to get it and make a quick exit.

Kay went back to reading his book as he answered, "If it is only my clothes that you come for then they are in the chest beside the door. If it is my weapons then they hang about the walls. No need to drug me to get them." Cassia was unnerved by his answer until she saw the smirk on his lips.

"You jest," she asked incredulously as she retrieved the aforementioned clothing.

"What else am I to do," he questioned with his nose still between the pages. "The past cannot be undone, as they say. You have your punishment; there is no need for me to humiliate you further. Being tied to Tristan may actually be a harsher punishment than any crime deserves. However, the other knights may not see it as such, especially Lancelot, so I would be careful when performing my duties if I were you," Kay finally raised his head out of the book once more. "I do not wish to keep you from your chores lest you meet Tristan's wrath, so hurry along before he catches you." With that Cassia bowed and hurried out of the room before Kay changed his mind about her.

Cassia couldn't believe that the fierce looking knight, who often kept Lancelot in check, was not angry with her. She had once seen him break a mug of ale over a soldier's head for simply looking at his whore for the night. Cassia breathed a sigh of relief as she entered Gawain's room. There she found both Gawain and Galahad wrestling over some silly argument. As she stepped into the room both men ceased fighting mid roll and ended up falling off the bed and into a pile on the floor. Gawain was the first to recover and question her presence. "What are you doing here," he bellowed in an angry tone.

'Well I guess someone had to be mad at me,' Cassia thought as she gestured to her bag of dirty clothes. "I came for your wash," she said in resignation. Galahad got to his feet growling, but Gawain held him back.

"Are you sure that's all you want, wench," the young knight ground out through gritted teeth.

"It is in the corner," Gawain pointed to the back corner of the room behind the cot that they were sprawled in front of. Cassia sighed and began to plod her way through the room when Galahad's leg swept out, successfully tripping her so that she was now sprawled on the floor as well. Galahad was smacked upside the head by Gawain before he could make any cruel comments to her. "Behave," Gawain chastised his younger friend. "Take the clothes and get out. I do not wish you coming in and out of my rooms uninvited. I expect that Tristan will receive that key when you are finished and that tomorrow you will knock and wait to be admitted. If not, I will see to it that Tristan disciplines you properly. There is no need for a thief to have free access to all our chambers," Gawain said in a cold tone as he waited for her to leave.

Cassia hurried out of the room red faced with a hung head but stopped at the door. "I am sorry for my previous actions. I know I can never regain your trust, but I am sorry. We don't all get as lucky as you are. Some people don't have brothers or friends to watch their backs or help them in times of need. We all have to survive somehow, some of us less honorably than others," with that said Cassia slipped out of the room before either man could fully grasp what she meant.

Galahad let out a sarcastic laugh as she shut the door. "Does she think us fools? Does she think that I enjoy being here, that I have had an easy life?"

"We were too harsh on her, Galahad," Gawain sighed leaning back against the bed as he took in her words.

"What," Galahad asked incredulously.

"Yes Galahad. She has had it worse than we. We have each other, but who does she have? She is only a woman, and yet she is left to navigate through a man's world. I do not know her circumstances, but I doubt she willingly chose to be a thief just as we did not willingly choose to be knights," Gawain stood ruffling the younger man's curly hair. Galahad swatted his hand away still not convinced.

"I do not see why we should let her get away with stealing from Tristan and drugging the rest of us just because she is a woman," he said impetuously.

"She has not gotten away with it. Hell, she willingly gave herself over to Tristan. She is a slave now. You above all others should know what it is to be a slave. You above all others should have compassion for those who are forced to endure servitude. Galahad, she is at the mercy of the man she wronged, who happens to be a sadistic bastard. I love Tristan as a brother, but I would not wish her fate on anyone," Gawain lectured. Galahad just lowered his head and thought about what Gawain had said.

"Maybe your right but don't expect me to go out of my way to be nice to her," Galahad huffed. Gawain just rolled his eyes.

"Come on pup, I feel the need to hunt. Haven't spilled any blood in several days, I fear that I might lose my touch," Gawain joked as he retrieved his bow and daggers.

"You're just as disgusting as Tristan. Can't you go a day without killing or maiming something," Galahad asked tiredly as though he had given up hope on this long ago.

"You're just jealous that I caught the stag you have been hunting all morning the last time we went out.

"Well sorry if I was trying to do it with skill instead of jumping out of a tree and onto its back just to stab it in the heart."

"It did the trick didn't it? The animal died instantly; it's not like it suffered or anything because of what I did."

"You were covered in its blood for the rest of the day. It was disgusting," Galahad accused.

"Sorry, I forgot that you have a weak stomach. I should remember by now since I am constantly cleaning up your vomit after a long night, or even a short night," Gawain countered with mirth in his eyes as he rushed out of the room. Galahad snarled and gave chase.

"I don't have a weak stomach. I hold my liquor just fine," Galahad shouted as he ran down the corridor of the barracks, just as Cassia was coming out of Percival's room.

Cassia lastly came to Lancelot's room. She was slightly wary because of both Dagonet and Kay's warnings. She decided to listen to what Gawain had said and knocked on the door instead of entering uninvited. "Come in, it's unlocked," said Lancelot's voice from behind the heavy door. Cassia took the invitation and slowly opened the door to peek her head inside.

Lancelot lay sprawled on his bed although it was the middle of the day. He had a dagger in his right had that he twirled around his fingers and through the air above him as he glanced at the visitor. Cassia found that very sharp dagger embedded in the doorframe just beside her head before she could even say a word. "What do you want," Lancelot sneered as he found another dagger on the table beside his cot. "Answer carefully because I might not miss next time," he assured her before she could answer him.

"I came for your dirty clothes. Tristan has me doing the washing and mending," she said clearly although very quietly.

"Oh really? And why should I believe a word you say? Perhaps you are just here to see the lay of my room so you can rob me in the night," he accused her as he cleaned beneath his fingernails with his blade.

"Tristan told me to have all the knight washing and mending done before sundown. I simply mean to do as I was told. If you do not believe me, Tristan will confirm it," Cassia tried to plead her case although she doubted that he truly cared.

"In the bag," Lancelot said as he pointed to a large sack on the side of the bed. Cassia nodded gratefully and went to retrieve the bag so that she could be on her way. However, as she bent to pick the sack up she felt cold metal at her throat. "For a thief you are very foolish. Were you never taught to always keep an eye on your enemy unless you enjoy the prospect of being killed," Lancelot hissed in her ear as he dug the knife in deeper. "I should kill you now for your lies…" Lancelot was cut off by a dagger embedding itself in table next to him.

Tristan stood in the doorway, having removed Lancelot's dagger from its frame. He had just arrived from scout and was tired and hungry. He hadn't slept in several nights and just the idea of having another argument with Lancelot was taxing on its own. Tristan's unbreakable nerves were one thread away from, indeed, breaking and Lancelot was straining that poor thread. He had been walking toward his room when he heard a growl from Lancelot's room which was next to his own. He rarely responded to anything coming from Lancelot's room because it often involved an image he did not need to see, but something had drawn Tristan closer. Now he stood watching Cassia be threatened by the knight that had already tried his patience beyond recovery once that day. Tristan just took a silent breath and pretended to be diplomatic as Arthur would, or at least as much as he could.

"Lancelot," that one word rolled off Tristan's tongue so menacingly that it conveyed the meaning and threat perfectly. Lancelot looked up at his comrade with fire in his eyes.

"She," he began but was cut off once more.

"She is not your concern, so I suggest letting her go," Tristan said devoid of any and all emotion as he actually stepped into the room. When Lancelot made no move to release the blade from Cassia's neck, Tristan simply removed another dagger from one of the many hidden sheaths within his armor. "Lancelot," Tristan said again but this time it was less menacing and more diplomatic. Lancelot sighed and released the terrified Roman as she skittered behind Tristan's legs with tears in her eyes. There was a thin line of blood across her neck where his blade had dug in too deep but other than that she was unharmed. "Don't you have things to do wench," Tristan asked coldly as Cassia clutched at her neck with tears streaming down her face. Cassia just wiped her tears, grabbed the bag of clothes, and hurried out of the room.

Tristan turned back to Lancelot once she had gone. "What was it that Arthur said about not touching her," Tristan said with a smirk.

"I don't like women like that. They're trouble," Lancelot said with a knowing frown.

"Doesn't matter because she's my trouble, not yours," Tristan replied still devoid of emotion.

Lancelot looked up at his comrade and sighed. "I guess I'm an ass for attacking you about roughing her up when I just did the same thing, aren't I?"

"You were an ass long before that," Tristan said as he turned and left the room without another word. Nothing was solved, but Tristan was too tired to care.

He walked to the tavern in order to find Vanora. He found her in the kitchens trying to feed number Three while number Eight was relentlessly clamped to her breast having his own meal. Tristan didn't even pay attention to the woman's state of undress or frustration as he made his way over to her.

"Tristan, be a dear and hold Eight while I feed Three," she said exasperatedly as she removed the babe from her breast and thrust it into Tristan's arms. Tristan, for his part, held the infant without complaint and kept his eyes on Vanora's face while she did up the front of her shirt. Once she had settled Three with a bowl of stew, she turned back to Tristan who had a sleeping Eight in his arms. "Well, don't you do well with children? I haven't seen Eight fall asleep so easily yet," said the exhausted redhead as she took in the sight of Tristan and her latest child. "Where'd you learn to hold a child like that," she asked as she motioned for the silent baby.

Tristan simply grunted in response as he handed the child back to his mother. He refused to dredge up old memories simply because he held a child in his arms for the first time in four years. "Where's Cassia," he asked both in order to change to subject and complete the task he came for.

"She should be by the stream that runs behind the stables. I told her to use the laundry rooms, but she said that she likes the outdoors better than the dark and damp laundry quarters. I can't say I blame her for that," Vanora said as she gently rocked her child. Tristan simply nodded and headed for the back door of the kitchens, but was stopped in the doorway by Vanora's voice.

"Oh and Tristan," she called. "I know it's not my place, but she seems like a nice girl so listen, please. I know you men think that you have to break things then rebuild them to fit your purposes, but she's not a horse or a soldier. She's just an ordinary woman, flesh and blood. If you break her, chances are you won't be able to fit the pieces back together, and then what good is she to you or herself? Step out of your icy cold persona for a moment and look at her. She isn't so different from you, so treat her with some respect," Vanora said in a pleading tone.

Tristan knew that Vanora wasn't trying to have a say in his business. She always respected his privacy. That was why he valued her opinion and found himself pondering her words as he made his way to Cassia.

XxXxX

Hope you enjoyed this chapter; tell me what you thought of the knights' reactions.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and please continue to let me know what you think. It definitely keeps me going.


	20. Attacks

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

WARNING: This chapter contains attempted rape, though it is not graphic; do not read if it upsets you.

Chapter 20 Attacks

Cassia knelt beside the weak stream as she sorted through the knights' various articles of clothing. Considering that the men barely made more than a pittance in salary, they had quite a few sets of clothes. Cassia never minded doing the washing back home. She thought that one could learn quite a bit about a person based upon what they wore, how they wore it, and how well they took care of it such as when she lifted Dagonet's shirts out of the bag. Each one was in good condition with any holes already patched. They were of plain colors that didn't beg for attention and they the perfect size for his build. Dagonet was a practical person and his clothing said that about him. Cassia also liked his clothing because it was not completely saturated in blood like Tristan's shirts.

Tristan's clothing, for the most part, was covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. It was not a pleasant combination in any form and the fact that she, somehow, had to clean these garments was frustrating beyond belief. Cassia had to weigh his shirts down with rocks so that they wouldn't float away as she soaked them in order to loosen the stains. She sighed contentedly as she worked her way through each of the knights' clothing.

Her nerves were still rattled a great deal from Lancelot's attack, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder constantly to see if anyone was behind her. However, after a while Cassia found that the cool touch of the water and the relaxing motion of cleaning the clothing lulled her out of her wary mood. She found herself closing her eyes and enjoying the heat of the sun on her face.

Cassia didn't open her eyes until the sun was blocked from her skin by something standing in its way. Cassia opened her eyes to find two soldiers standing above her in the edge of the water.

"Look what we have here Lucius, a fine little Roman whore to wile away our afternoon with," said a tall dark haired soldier.

The other one sneered disgustingly as he nodded his agreement. "She must be a feisty one, just look at those cuffs she's got on her. Her master must like 'em wild," said the shorter but equally menacing soldier.

"Come 'ere and show us how you like it," said the first as he reached down and grabbed Cassia by the hair. Cassia's eyes were as wide as a doe's with fright. Her breathing was coming in shallow gasps when she realized that there was really no escaping the two guards. The ordinarily brave or strong willed woman melted away at the thought of what these two men could do to her. It was different than her run in with the collectors at the previous village. This time she knew that these men meant to use her, most likely abuse her, then leave her broken for the entire fort to see. She could not scream or fight because these were Roman soldiers, and no one would take a slave's word above a soldier's. She could not defend herself because if she hit an officer she was as good as dead anyway.

Cassia wished that the earth would just swallow her up right then, but she never seemed to get what she desired. Her wash was left to float down the stream as the two Romans dragged her through the water to the opposite shore where the first threw her on the ground as the other held her down. Cassia couldn't bring herself to struggle as lay there wishing she was dead. Struggling would only make this worse, and Cassia had lived long enough on the lower side of life to know that one's dignity was not worth the pain that one suffered for it. not to mention, these men wanted her to fight back and was damned if she was going to give them anything they wanted.

"Why don't you fight, wench. I thought you were going to be some fun, but all you're doing is lying there," said the guard holding her down while the other took off his belt. "Move a bit or something. This isn't fun if you just lay there," he said as he slapped her across the face. Cassia's head snapped to the side but it didn't even elicit a sound of pain on her part. She lay silent, already dead to the world. Cassia was ready to plunge a dagger into her own heart and be done with it when she heard the first soldier speak as he came near her.

"She's just a whore. She's used to lying on her back for anyone who wants it," he said as he knelt before her. At his words, Cassia felt that same surge she did the day that she watched the Woads attack Tristan, that crazy impulse to do something even though it would probably do her more harm than good. Without thinking Cassia kicked out her one leg and hit the larger soldier squarely in the face.

"I'm not a whore, you filthy Roman bastard," she shouted with all her might before the second soldier could hit her again and clamp a hand over her mouth. Cassia was overcome with the dire need to escape as she twisted and struggled to try to get out of his grip. By now the one she had kicked had recovered and grabbed her legs pinning them to the ground with his superior strength.

"Stupid whore, I'll…" the words died on his lips as he fell to the side. The second soldier looked up with wide eyes as he saw his partner fall dead onto the hard earth.

Tristan had heard the scream long before he made it to the bank of the stream. He knew immediately that it was Cassia, and he had a fairly good idea as to what was happening to her. He took off at a sprint through the village attached to the fort and toward the stables on the other side. Tristan got to the stream just in time to see Cassia delivery a kick to the face of a soldier who looked ready to rape her. He couldn't help but smirk as he thought of the slap that she had delivery to his own face just the previous day. Then he felt his black heart clench as he watched the other soldier slap her as the first pinned her legs.

_Isolde's cold body lay in the shallow grave the villagers had dug for her. Her pale blue lips had shown through the linen her body had been shrouded in. Tristan felt his blood stop in his veins as he gazed upon her lifeless face through the shroud. Even in death she was more beautiful to him than any other woman he had ever laid his eyes on. He could tell that her face had been bruised greatly before her death and that even her once perfectly straight nose had been broken, or more accurately shattered. He wanted to reach out and hold her stiff body to his, to absorb the pain she must have been subjected too. _

_Tristan's heart froze, like her dead limbs in the cold earth. No tears sprang from his face as he gazed upon the one image that frightened him to death. Tristan still couldn't imagine life without Isolde's smile waking him from his brooding or her fiery hair beckoning him to follow her as it floated out behind her as she would teasingly run from him. The once full heart within Tristan's chest clenched and withered as he realized what had happened to his beloved._

_The face of the Roman who had threatened such acts flashed in his mind. This was quickly followed by images of what he could only have imagined taking place. Isolde's screams rung in his ears even having never heard them himself. She had always been brave, never raising her voice other than to laugh or mockingly reprimand him. Even in child birth she had just gritted her teeth and let out no more than a rare moan or grunt, but never the type of scream that his mind was tormenting him with._

_Glancing one last time at her shrouded and broken body, Tristan reached out cutting the last dying rose from a bramble above her grave. He took the withering bud with him as he went in search of her murderer, for though her life was smothered by her own hand, she had died long before the dagger was plunged through her heart. Tristan vowed he would find him and avenge her even if it took him the rest of his life. He would not be haunted by those unearthly screams forever._

Tristan waded into the water without a second thought as he removed a dagger from his side. Without thinking about the consequences, Tristan threw the dagger straight into the back of the soldier. He continued at full speed past the falling body in order to deliver a swift kick to the face of the second man which knocked him over onto his back. Tristan swiftly stepped over Cassia who still lay stunned on the ground and straddled the would-be-rapist. Tristan had another dagger in his hand by this time and used the hilt of which to break the soldier's nose.

"I don't like people taking what is mine," he growled as he heard the guard howl in pain. Tristan wrenched the man's chin so that he was forced to stare Tristan in the eye. "She is mine," Tristan said as he emphasized every word so that it sunk in.

"We were just having some fun," the guard was cut off by another blow to the face.

"I know and now I'm going to show you how I like to have fun," Tristan said as he flipped the knife around so that it was poised at the man's throat. Tristan slowly let the blade trail down the man's chest leaving a shallow incision that hurt like hell.

Cassia had regain some of wits as she heard the second guard, who she vaguely remembered being called Lucius, scream in agony. Cassia couldn't stop herself from shaking as tears still poured from her eyes, but she had enough sense about her to find who had saved her. As she turned she saw Tristan with a gleam in his eye that could only be described as feral and sadistic as he tortured one of her attackers. Cassia was only further frightened by Tristan's actions and found her self screaming for it to stop.

Tristan spun to see what was wrong as soon as he heard Cassia's scream. He was covered in the other man's blood and looking as rabid as a wolf as he glanced at her. He saw her shaking and crying as she crawled backwards away from the mess. Tristan's bloodlust immediately reigned itself in when he saw the unadulterated horror in her eyes. Cassia's tear streaked face mingled with the image of Isolde's face and Tristan felt his dead heart clench painfully. Tristan dropped his dagger and stood immediately. He slowly made his way to her, but she only sobbed louder and scuttled faster. Tristan swiftly knelt before her with his palms up so as not to frighten her. Tristan was angered by the fear she showed for him. It made him feel like more of an animal than he actually was, but he controlled his rising temper so as not to frighten her further.

"Is…," he caught himself and gathered his senses. "Cassia," he said gently as he reached out to her and gently rested his hand on her knee. "It's okay. They can't hurt you anymore," he said in the most soothing tone he could muster up. Cassia stiffened at his touch but eventually calmed enough for him to take her in his arms and promise her that all would be alright. Tristan wouldn't have believed that he still had the ability to be tender after four years of pain and hatred had blackened his heart, but somehow he found it in himself to sooth the poor woman in his arms, if not for her then for Isolde.

Cassia sobbed into his already filthy tunic as she continued to relive what had just nearly happened. Tristan continued to whisper reassurances into her soft hair as he lifted her off the cold ground and into her strong arms. He secured her arms around his neck as he removed one of his hands in order to retrieve the forgotten laundry, though some of it had already made its way down stream. He then slowly carried Cassia back toward the barracks. On the way he met Dagonet and Kay who had come searching when they heard screams. Tristan stopped only long enough to tell them where the bodies were and the quickest way to remove them without getting caught. Both men nodded their agreement to help their comrade as they headed toward the stream.

Tristan threw open the door to his room for the second time in as many days. He laid Cassia on the bed as gently as possible before going to the water basin to retrieve a damp cloth. When Cassia retreated at his approach, Tristan removed his tunic and washed his face so that he was no longer covered in blood. By the time he had put on another tunic that turned out not even to be his own, as he had taken it out of the laundry bag, Cassia was once again trembling on the bed. Tristan sat next to her, not making any sudden moves, as he reached for her already bruising arms. He gently rolled up the sleeves of the tunic as he assessed the damage. Once he was sure than she was unharmed, he took the cool cloth and began to wash her face free of the blood and sweat. Cassia whimpered as he applied unwanted pressure to her sore cheek. Tristan immediately removed the cloth and took her chin in his hand and examined the cheek.

"You'll have a nasty bruise for a few days, but you were lucky," were the first real words to come out of his mouth. "You did well today," he reassured her. "Not many women would kick a Roman in the face if he were trying to…," he trailed off not wanting to actually say the word aloud for fear that she might breakdown again.

Cassia choked back a disgusted laugh as she said, "You obviously didn't see me just lay there as they were about to have their way with me. I was ready to just let them do what they wanted until they called me a whore," she finished with another choked sob.

"Doesn't matter what you were going to do, only thing that matters is what you did do. I've seen you fight before, and although you're a Roman woman you are as fierce as any warrior I have seen," he reassured her yet again.

"You don't mean that," she continued to sob.

"I'm not one to lie," Tristan said as his shield began to take its place once again. "However, don't think that you're capable of taking on the world because even if you are fierce, I haven't seen you think out one thing that you've done thus far. You might actually be more impulsive than Galahad."

Cassia snorted as her sobs began to finally subside. "I don't even know Galahad very well, but I know that no one can be more impulsive than him and still live past their fifth year," She said in almost a laugh.

Tristan smirked as he saw some of the life come back to her face. "You're going to be alright," he said with a sigh and Cassia gave a timid nod. Tristan lay across his cot while Cassia still sat with her knees hugged to her chest. "I'm sorry," the words were barely audible, but Cassia heard them.

"What are you sorry for? If anyone should be sorry, it should be me. Half of the knights' will be missing clothing after today, and I'm the reason you killed two more Romans. Not to mention the fact that I owe you my life yet again," Cassia said in disbelief that he had actually apologized to her. She didn't believe him capable of admitting fault, but yet again she was proven wrong about this knight.

"I'm sorry about the ride here," Tristan said without addressing her worrying. "I was not in control, like this afternoon. I apologize for being rough," he said as he finally looked at her.

"I cannot complain. I have seen slaves publicly beaten by their masters for merely not standing straight enough or forgetting the proper way to bow in the presence of a superior. You are simply a rough person. I expect no less, and I deserve no more," Cassia said resignedly.

Tristan just looked at her debating on how he should reply without investing too much of himself in the conversation. "You deserve whatever you think you do, Cassia. People treat you the way you let yourself be treated. I didn't always used to be rough, but I learned that it is the easiest way to keep from getting hurt," with that said Tristan stood. "You are to rest for the remainder of the day. I will have Vanora bring you some supper. If you need anything, have one of the maids fetch either me or Vanora. You will be expected to do today and tomorrow's chores on the morrow so I suggest enjoying your rest."

Tristan simply slipped out of the room to go ensure that everything had been taken care of, as Cassia sat alone on the bed. As soon as Tristan left, Cassia began to be bombarded by her thoughts once again. She kept seeing the two soldiers before her. She could smell them, feel them on her skin. It was not long, though it felt like an eternity, before Cassia was trembling and sobbing into the sheets once again.

Tristan had found Dagonet and Kay sitting in the tavern when he went to ask Vanora to bring Cassia some food. The two knights just gave Tristan a nod that told him it was done as he passed them. Tristan told Vanora what had happened only because the woman could tell that something was not right. Vanora had immediately boiled some tea and brought some food up to Tristan's quarters.

Tristan sat beside Dagonet on the bench at their usual table as he began to eat his first meal of the day, although it was nearly supper time. Dagonet just patted him on the shoulder as he ate.

"Everything is taken care of, Tris," Kay sighed as he took a swig of his ale. Tristan just nodded.

"Here are your daggers," Dagonet placed the newly cleaned blades on the table beside Tristan's plate. Dagonet knew that Tristan would be very angry if he lost one of his daggers because of two Romans. Tristan quickly slipped the knives back into their places in his clothing as he continued to eat. "How's the lady," Dagonet asked as watched Tristan stare into space.

"She'll live, but I doubt she feels that way right now," Tristan said as he continued to see flashes of Isolde's corpse dance before his eyes.

"What do you mean," Kay asked curious as to why the scout, all of a sudden, felt compassion for the woman he enslaved.

Tristan gave both men a look that explained everything. Tristan no longer had to worry about Vanora's words of wisdom because Cassia had already been broken. Though it was not by his own hand, Tristan was the one left with the task of attempting to put the pieces back together. He truly doubted that he was any more capable of doing this than he was of carrying on an actual conversation with anyone besides his hawk.

Not long after, Vanora came dashing toward the table. "Tristan, you've got to go see her. She's trembling and moaning like there's no tomorrow. She won't even let me near her without retreating," Vanora said in a fluster. Tristan stood without a word and marched to his room.

Upon opening the door he saw Cassia curled up in the corner of the room. Tristan silently walked over to her and lifted her into his arms before she could protest. He then turned to Vanora and asked gently, "Water for a bath." Vanora fled immediately to retrieve the desired water. Tristan then brought Cassia to the bed once again and sat with her in his lap. Cassia sobbed and tried to pull away but Tristan held her close and whispered reassurances into her ear. Cassia continued to sob but stopped fighting him after several minutes.

"Look at me," Tristan commanded as he took her chin in his hand. Cassia did so as Tristan continued, "You need to eat, and then we'll get you cleaned up. You're safe remember that," he said as he reached for the stew that Vanora had brought her. He carefully began to feed her, and she slowly took that offered food finding that she was surprisingly hungry. When Vanora returned with the bath Tristan took his leave after saying, "Vanora's going to bathe you. I'll be just outside if you need anything." Cassia nodded blankly as Tristan shifted her onto the bed and left the room. Once bathed and fed, Vanora told Tristan it would probably be the best if they gave her an herb to help her sleep and that someone should be with her through the night. Tristan agreed and once Cassia had fallen into a deep drug induced sleep he began his vigil over her.

Vanora cleaned up the room from Cassia's bath as Tristan put the fragile woman to bed. Vanora had never seen the scout be so gentle except for when he was holding her latest child earlier in the day. However, even then he was not so loving as he was now. Vanora saw the far away look in his eye as he moved her, still wet, hair from her sleeping face. Vanora knew Tristan was ages away as he tended Cassia who he most likely believed was another in this moment. Vanora had never seen so peaceful a look on the scout's face as it was in this moment. She knew Tristan better than even most of the knights because she had been one of few people allowed into his quarters in the first few months. Still, she knew naught of Tristan's past, but being a perceptive woman she knew love in the eyes of another even when they themselves didn't know it was there.

As Vanora slipped from the room, she glanced back at the unlikely pair one last time. She prayed that perhaps Cassia would be the key to getting Tristan to truly smile. She knew that Tristan would never find love again simply because of the look on his face as he gazed at the memory he had turned Cassia into, but she hoped that maybe Cassia would simply make him feel again. That was all one could ask of a heart frozen by grief.

Tristan sat in the chair beside what was rightfully his cot as he thought on what had transpired during the day. He had seen worse things done to better people than Cassia, but one thing that Tristan could not stand by and watch was rape. He knew several of the other knights could pass a woman being raped without a second thought because it was rather common around the fort, but Tristan was not one of them. He knew that Isolde had be suffered such disgrace before she was murdered, and he couldn't allow it to happen to anyone else because he wasn't able to save her. Tristan didn't fall asleep for the second night in a row because of the woman lying on his cot. 'I should have just killed her,' Tristan thought wryly as he began to sharpen one of his many blades. 'She would have been less trouble that way.' Tristan refused to let him self admit that she was only trouble because she made him _feel_, something he had not experience in ages.

XxX

Wow, that was actually my longest chapter yet. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I am sorry I didn't reply to reviews but I felt the urge to write so I figure this chapter should make up for it.

So, what did you think?

Please Review!


	21. Scar Tissue

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize (I am beginning to feel like a broken record)**

AN: Just to clear up some things that maybe I should have mentioned in the first chapter, but the twenty-first works as well. This story takes place between ten and eleven years into the knights' service, so it is several years before the movie. Enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 21 Scar Tissue

_Rosheen giggled lightly as Tristan bounced the infant on his knee. Tristan's legendary patience was beginning to run thin as he waited for Isolde to return from the healing ward. He had been taking care of Rosheen since sun up, and as much as he loved the infant he had taken in as his own daughter. He had other things to take care of. He was a decent father, but he needed his freedom too._

_Isolde walked into her hut with her shoulders slumped and her fingers running throw her ratty hair. She had had to amputate a soldier's leg that day, and all she wanted to do now was either go to sleep or cry. As soon as she stepped inside, however, she had her daughter thrust into her tired arms and a kiss placed upon her forehead._

"_Tristan, can you please hold her for now, I am simply exhausted and can barely hold myself up," Isolde said through a yawn as she held Rosheen out to her adopted father. _

"_I have held her all day, fed her those milk skins you left, played with her, changed her…" Tristan wasn't permitted to finish._

"_You're her father. You supposed to do that," Isolde cried as she fell onto her cot with Rosheen still cradled in her arms. "You offered to watch her so that I could tend the sick. I would have gotten Magda or Lena to watch her if you didn't want to. I just had to cut off a boy's leg, I can barely stand myself."_

"_I have to scout the coast; I'll be gone for several days. I leave tonight. I can't stand around watching her when I haven't even taken care of the provisions for the mission," Tristan said in a harsh tone. Rosheen began to cry as soon as she sensed Tristan's unrest._

"_Now she's crying, wonderful," Isolde groaned as she cooed to the frantic infant. "Just go Tris. Your assistance is unwanted if you're going to be a prick about it," Isolde said as she lay down with the child._

_Tristan left the hut without apologizing and left the fort within the hour. He rode hard for several days before returning to the fort. When he did, there was nothing left for him but death. Isolde's bruised and broken body lay before him. Her pale blue lips begged him to save her even though it was far too late for that. Her shrouded face screamed at him for leaving her to this fate. Her dead fingers grasped his heart and squeezed the life from it. Tristan wanted to scream; he wanted to cry, but all he could do was stand there and feel the chill seep into his soul. He had left her without saying goodbye, without apologizing, and without kissing those lovely lips. He left her to this fate without so much as a kind word in parting, and still no words came._

Tristan didn't realize that he had dozed off sometime in the night until he felt a timid hand on his shoulder. His eyes immediately sprung open and he had a dagger poised at the neck of his "attacker." Two pairs of golden eyes met, one full of fear the other cold and empty. Tristan immediately removed his dagger from Cassia's throat. He growled as Cassia quickly removed her hand from his shoulder. She began to cower back still a bit skittish after the previous day's attacks.

"Vanora brought food if you'd like it," Cassia said by way of explanation. Tristan glanced at the tray of porridge on the table. "I didn't know if I should wake you but you seemed to be restless so I thought that you wouldn't mind."

"Don't you have duties to attend to," Tristan's voice was harsher than he meant it to be, but he still had the remnants of his dream playing before his eyes. "Do you think that just because you had a bad day yesterday that you no longer need to attend your duties?"

Cassia had fire in her eyes as she snapped back at him, "Forgive me sir, for trying to see to your comfort. If you had been more thorough in explaining my duties then I would have known not to disturb you when you are having nightmares. Or you could just let me know when you're in a foul mood and I will avoid you."

Tristan raised his hand as though to slap her for her insolence, but instead he took her chin in his hand. "You will show me respect or the next time I may not be so willing to stop them. Do you understand me," Tristan had a sadistic glint in his eye as he spoke and he could feel the shudder that ran through her body. Without warning tears began to form in her eyes. Tristan inwardly cringed as he saw the fear and pain return to her eyes.

Cassia pulled out of his grasp rather awkwardly and began to move toward the sack that lay beside his bed. "Forgive me," her voice was much softer and more sincere this time. "I just thought that you might be hungry. You must have been interrupted in your meal because of my stupid nerves last night."

Tristan was out of his seat and before Cassia within the blink of an eye. "Look at me woman," he said as he took her by her shoulders. "You are my slave, no others. You need not fear for your safety. I am not a gentle or kind person, but you never need fear that I or any other will violate you." Cassia kept her eyes looking to the floor afraid to look up. Any contact at the moment was more than she was willing to have. She was grateful for Tristan's reassurance, but she was frightened of his touch.

Tristan could feel how tense she was as he held her shoulders gently but firmly. It took a moment for him to realize that it was because of his touch. Tristan immediately removed his hands from her body, but did not move from his place beside her. "You shall stay with me today. No one will harm you," Tristan said as he stood up offering her his hand to aid her as well. Cassia shakily took his proffered hand and stood up. "You can attend your chores if you feel well enough. I will stand guard," Cassia nodded quickly as she retrieved the clothes from the floor. Tristan stopped her, however, and took the sack himself. Together they made their way down to the stream where Cassia could work in peace. Tristan could still see Isolde's grey face and felt all the more responsible for it which in turn made him feel responsible for Cassia's situation.

It was well into the afternoon hours as Tristan lay beside the brook watching Cassia work. It was his free day, but he didn't mind spending it as such. Cassia worked through the clothes at a furious pace. She was very mechanical in her work. She would take a shirt douse it then process to attend any stains or smudges. She would then douse it again and wash the entire thing before moving on. However, there was a grace to her work. She did it with such ease that it was actually almost hypnotizing to watch. Tristan had found himself almost dozing off several times this afternoon.

It was one of these times that Tristan was roused rather unceremoniously by a roar from Gawain. Galahad and he had gone out hunting that morning, and it seemed as if they had returned with quite a bounty. Tristan sat up immediately as he heard the shouts of Gawain to his younger companion. He turned to Cassia to see her cringe at the rowdy knight. "You're almost finished," he asked not unkindly.

Cassia looked up, surprised that Tristan was awake. She had seen him dozing off all afternoon. This should have made her feel worried for her safety, but just his presence made her feel at ease, so long as he was not in a _mood_. "I just have a few articles left, and I shall be done," she replied softly. "You need not stay if you have more important things to do."

"No, I said I would stay. There is nothing to be done that cannot wait a little longer." Tristan knew that Cassia was still frightened to be alone, so he would not torment her by leaving her to her own devices. He had actually come with her not solely for her comfort but instead to ensure that the villagers and Romans saw her with him. If the Romans knew that she was his, the most sadistic and crazed knight, slave then they would leave her be and not even fathom touching her in a way that might invoke his wrath.

Tristan glanced up from Cassia as he saw Gawain and Galahad come walking up the path beside the stream. Galahad looked as though he had just woken up. His hair was mused and his clothing askew. Tristan inwardly smirked as he knew that Gawain was probably the reason for his appearance. Gawain took pleasure in getting his uptight friend to loosen up. Galahad was not the most skilled hunter or most inclined to run around the forest all day, but Gawain loved the hunt and therefore dragged Galahad with him when he felt the need. Galahad always came back looking as though he had been the hunted and Gawain always came back with several hides slung over his shoulder and a few stories of Galahad's inability to hunt to feed all the knights' hunger in the evening.

Tristan's gaze bounced to that of Gawain when he heard him shout over, "Hey Tristan, why didn't you come out with us today? You haven't been on a good hunt in a while."

Tristan just grunted as the two youngest knights passed. Gawain stopped by Cassia who was cleaning one of Tristan's many blood laden tunics. "Or maybe you have from the looks of your clothing," Gawain said as he smiled down at her. "Milady, Vanora learned long ago that it is far easier to steal Tristan a new tunic than it is to try to clean his old ones. And as seeing that your specialty is thievery, I suggest not wasting your time. It's not as though Tristan notices what tunic he wears," Gawain advised as he glanced back at Tristan who was still wearing the tunic that he had thrown on the night before. It just so happened that it was Gawain's tunic. Cassia couldn't help but laugh at the grunt Tristan made when he realized whose shirt he was wearing, and took it off promptly and threw it at Gawain who caught it effortlessly. "Why thank you, brother," Gawain smiled as he rushed off to catch up to Galahad who hadn't bothered to stop.

Tristan now sat beside the stream stripped to the waste with a slight frown distorting his features. Cassia just smirked at him as she studied all of the stains on one of his tunics. "You sure do like to get in the thick of it, don't you," she said as she glanced over to him. Tristan looked sheepish as he glanced at the tunic in her hands.

"I…"

"Don't need to explain it," she said as she went back to cleaning it. "I have met warriors before you, and shall most likely meet warriors after you. I have seen men bathed in the blood of their enemies. No one apologizes to a healer for losing a limb and bleeding all over his table. It simply cannot be helped. So do not apologize for what cannot be helped," Cassia said smiling gently as she worked on a particularly stubborn stain.

Tristan smiled at her ability to accept obstacles without much thought. She simply did what was needed even if it was unpleasant, practical. As he watched her finished he couldn't help but wonder how she had come to be a thief. She seemed the type of woman who valued honor and simplicity, but her life was far from either.

"If you continue to stare, sir, I am never to finish. It is rather unnerving," Cassia said without looking up from her work.

"It is supposed to be unnerving," Tristan replied as he stood up and began to gather the clothes drying on several rocks nearby.

"Then why is it you stare," she asked casually as she finished washing the last of his tunics.

"You are an enigma," he said seriously as he placed the garments next to her on the bank.

"You are one to talk," she laughed. "Maybe we can help each other. I will answer your question if you shall answer mine. Is that fair enough?"

"So be it," Tristan said lazily as he reached for another stack of clothes.

"Your question," Cassia prompted.

Tristan glanced over, obviously expecting her to have wanted to ask first, but accepting the prompt. "A thief, you always speak of honor yet you held the most dishonorable task in creation," he said by way of question.

"Oh, I should have known. Tis a long story," Cassia began as she folded the garments along the stream. Tristan sat on a rock across from her as though he truly wished to hear her speak, and Cassia graced him with her long tale of her husband's deceit, though she didn't recognize it as such. Tristan understood her motive by the end of her tale, but he could still never forgive her deeds. In his eyes, she chose her own fate long before her husband's lies. As she finished, Tristan rose and began to gather the last of the clothes as the sun began to fall lower and lower in the sky.

"Will you answer my question, Sir," Cassia asked with calm acceptance of his silence. She received a nod from the back of the knight. As she formulated her question in her mind she took in Tristan's still bare back. Her former question left her mind as she noticed the long scars running up and down his sculpted frame. She had not noticed them when she had tended his arrow wound, but now in the last golden rays of sunlight they stood out like sugar would among cinnamon.

"Where did you get those," she asked without thinking. As soon as the words left her mouth she knew she had made a mistake. Tristan's entire body tensed as he lifted the final article of clothing off a warm rock. "I am sorry, that was not the question I meant to ask," Cassia began to fumble wishing she had not said it.

"I was beaten by my previous commander because the fort's healer was murdered. They blamed the deed on me, then beat me, and left me in the forest to be killed by Woads. I did not die, so now I live with the scars of my former life," Tristan said with no emotion as he handed her the final cloth. She could not meet his gaze as she took it.

"Forgive me, I did not mean," Cassia still apologized.

"It matters not. Everyone carries scars. Did you have another question," he assured her as he lifted the sack of clothing and lent her a hand in order to rise.

"It can wait till another time," she said as he guided her back to the barracks.

"Do you wish to join us in the tavern tonight or would you rather take your meal in your quarters," Tristan asked as they began to carry the clothing to each of the knight's rooms.

"I do not know if they would want me to dine with them," Cassia confessed as she took the garments Tristan held out to her and entered Gawain's room. The aforementioned knight was just coming to the door as Cassia entered. "Oh forgive me; I did not realize you were here," Cassia amended as Gawain took his clothes from her.

"Worry not, I was just going to the tavern," Gawain said as he returned them to their drawers. "I see it is you who are putting Tristan to use and not the other way around," Gawain laughed as he noticed Tristan carrying the sack of clothes. "I expect you to bring him down tonight because we are beginning to forget what he looks like since he's never around anymore," Gawain joked as he passed them on his way out the door.

"Do they always change moods that fast? Just yesterday, he nearly attacked me for entering his room without knocking," Cassia said in utter shock as to Gawain's reaction to her.

"You said you watched us for six months, what is your conclusion," Tristan said wryly as they moved to the next room.

"Well I figured that Galahad was easily swayed, but the rest of you? How have you survived this long," Cassia joked as they went through the knights' barracks.

"Gawain is not one to change his mood lightly. He is steadfast unless he believes he has wrongly condemned. You should feel honored, I have not seen him change his mind about one since I first came here," Tristan said lazily.

"Oh, and who was the other great soul that he gave the benefit of the doubt," Cassia asked mockingly.

"Me," was all Tristan said. Cassia didn't know how to come back at that. She had already used her question carelessly on his scars, and she knew she would be over stepping her bounds if she asked for an explanation. So, they continued on in silence until they reached the scout's chamber.

XxX

Hope you enjoyed this one. What did you think of their banter? What of Tristan's memories?

Thank you to my reviewers, please continue to let me know what you think!


	22. Bare

**Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own anything that you recognize.**

Chapter 22 Bare

Cassia could feel the nerves all the way down her spine. She hadn't wished to come along with Tristan to the tavern. Tristan, however, had insisted upon her presence claiming that she would not be safe in his room if anyone had seen the previous day's events. Cassia knew that Tristan was lying, but she didn't know why. He had been tolerant of her this day, one might even say pleasant. He hadn't pushed her to hurry in her chores or go out alone. Instead, he seemed to enjoy lying in the sun watching her work. She was thoroughly confused by his ever changing moods, but was too afraid of damaging the delicate balance in order to find out why he was so unsteady. She wasn't even sure if he ever was different because no matter what his mood, he still wore the same stoic face that betrayed none of what he felt. He could pay her a compliment and it would still sound like a death threat. Cassia decided that perhaps it was her own nerves that made the scout seem unsteady, when in reality it was truly she who was unbalanced.

Tristan led the way through the dark fort toward the ever filled tavern. Cassia followed behind him, tucked deeply into the cloak he had given her on the journey to the fort. She found that the cloak was becoming a constant companion when she made her way through the village and markets. Tristan didn't seem to notice her nervous habit of retreating into the thick fabric, but she doubted that even that went unnoticed by the ever watchful scout. Tristan confirmed her suspicions when he turned to her as they made their way through a darkened alley.

"If you retreat any further into that cloak, you shall disappear," he said darkly as he turned to look at her in the dim light of the glowing moon. Cassia truly did seem to disappear into the cloth as she had it wrapped around her so tightly. "You have nothing to worry about. You can stop trying to hide yourself," Tristan said as he turned and began to walk again with renewed purpose.

"It is not that. I just do not wish to be seen," Cassia said as she followed his brisk pace. Tristan didn't say anything but instead just grunted. "It's just I haven't worn a dress that fits in over three years and it is a bit unnerving to do so around a bunch of men who would sooner rape me than ask my name," she hissed to the wind, but Tristan caught it. In truth, he hadn't noticed the dress she wore because she was covered in the cloak before she had even exited their chambers. Tristan was not a curious man by nature, but her shyness meant that she had something to hide and Tristan did not like things being hid from him. Tristan stopped once again and spun on his heel. He reached his hand out and gestured toward the cloak. "What," Cassia asked in confusion.

"The cloak, give it here," Tristan said without explanation." When Cassia looked confused he offered, "The best way to overcome one's fear is to face it. Now, the cloak?" Cassia looked hesitant as she slowly removed that dark fabric covering the dress that Vanora had made for her. It was an olive color, much like the tunic she had been given by Tristan. It would be considered a modest dress in anyone's opinion. It had long flowing sleeves had covered her arms in their entirety. It was of floor length and the neck line revealed little of what lie beneath. The dress did, however, hug her figure to perfection because of the well placed lacing up the back.

Tristan took in the sight before him. The dress was nothing like the one he had seen her in at the village. The one from the village was far more beautiful, but it did not fit so well as this one. That one had flowed where as this hugged in all the right places. Cassia's figure was not what it had been before her four year "journey" had begun and youth was leaving her swiftly to the weariness of age, but she was still beautiful in her own right. Tristan could tell that she had never been a woman of immense beauty, but there was something charming about her none the less.

"You look fine," was all Tristan offered as he threw the cloak over his own shoulders and continued to the tavern. Cassia shuddered in the cold air almost as much as she shuddered from the thought of being in a tavern with Roman soldiers only a day after her "attack." She was slightly angry with Tristan for taking away her only comfort, but deep within herself she knew he would let no harm come to her even if only because she was his property.

Tristan strode silently into the tavern, greeting no one in the process as he stalked over to the knights' table. Everyone was there for once, even Percival who had be more distant than Tristan since Lamorak's death. Tristan motioned for Cassia to get him a drink as he took his usual seat. Cassia did as was instructed and made her way to the bar carrying herself a little less surely as went. Vanora saw her wearing one of the dresses she had made and immediately went to the woman. "You look stunning. I didn't think there was a lady underneath all that dust and dirt, but I see I was thankfully mistaken," Vanora smiled as she took in the other woman's appearance. "I bet you'll be fighting off the knights by the end of the evening," Vanora gave her a sly look as she pressed two mugs of ale into Cassia's hand. "One for Tristan, and the other for my oaf of a lover," Vanora answered Cassia's unasked question. Cassia just nodded and turned back to the knights' table.

Tristan could feel everyone's eyes on him as he brought Cassia into the tavern. He could sense the knights' discomfort or acceptance, the villagers' curiosity, and the Romans' jealousy. The last was what had him keeping a close eye on Cassia at all times. He was not in the mood for a fight tonight, after all, the only reason that he had dragged her along was to avoid any fights. He hoped that once the Romans' saw that she was his property, they wouldn't touch her. He realized now that this was wishful thinking. Cassia's lack of true beauty left her with the appeal of a common whore, a face that was tolerable and a body that was durable. He would have pitied her if he had the ability to pity anyone. He now knew why being called a whore cut her so deeply. She said she was of few talents in her earlier narrative and that her family had lost hope of marrying her off. They had probably suggested whoring as a form of income because they no longer wished her burden. Tristan had seen crueler things done, but it still disgusted him at how some people could raise a beautiful child to adulthood then sell them off like livestock. Perhaps it was the fact that he never had the luxury of raising a child that he did not understand this, but Tristan knew he would have given his own freedom any day to be able to have raised Isolde's daughter as his own.

Tristan felt anger seeping into his veins as he realized that no matter what, Cassia's presence always brought back memories of Isolde. He was, however, torn from his past as Lancelot began to talk to him.

"First you rescue her from Woads, and then you kill a pair of Romans who threaten her. Next you drag her across the countryside to be with you as your _slave_. You trust her with a key to our chambers, and kill more Romans for her honor's sake. Now you spend the afternoon by her side and bring her to the tavern like a regular wench. If I didn't know any better, I would say you have a soft spot for her… I cannot say that I blame you though. She is pretty enough," Lancelot said as he downed the rest of his ale.

"You change moods as fast and as often as the British weather, Lance," pointed out a sober Kay.

"I'm just saying that she's perfect for our dear scout. She's clever and isn't afraid of him. That's a feat all on its own. What do you say Tristan, just look at her in that gown waiting on you hand and foot," Lancelot pressed on in drunken ignorance. Kay rolled his eyes at Lancelot's foolish crusade to attempt to anger the scout into admitting anything. He rolled his eyes again when he heard Tristan's answer. He was glad that he was sober because he had a feeling this might not end well for Lancelot.

"Unlike some, I don't get aroused by being made a fool of," Tristan started as he retrieved an apple from his pocket. "If I did I would wear black leather pants and play dice until I had no money left and have to coax whores to my bed by using my over exaggerated sexual prowess," Tristan continued with no emotion as though he were giving a scouting report. Kay let out a small laugh at his friend's expense as he waited for Lancelot to retaliate. The rebut was not long in coming.

"Maybe you should try it sometime, brother. If you ask a wench very nicely she might just remove that stick that's been up your ass for the past few years. Wouldn't you doll," he cooed to the serving wench that had made her way into his lap. She just giggled as she played with his curly hair.

It happened so fast that Lancelot did not see it coming. Before even Tristan had a chance to defend himself, Lancelot and his wench were covered in ale. Cassia stood behind them carrying two empty mugs and a satisfied smirk. "Perhaps you should mind your own ass, Lancelot," came her sarcastic voice. Lancelot sputter while the serving wench squealed like a dying pig as Cassia turned on her heel.

"Where are you off to milady," Kay said between peals of laughter. He as well as the other knights, sans Tristan, were rolling with laughter.

"To get more ale, seeing as I doubt my master would enjoy sipping it off his comrade, nor the wench for that matter," Cassia said matter-of-factly. Tristan smirked at her returning confidence but soon returned to his sullen mood as he noticed several Romans take notice of her.

Vanora gave Cassia another two mugs with a laugh of her own. "How many times I have wanted to do that," the redhead said as she smiled at the Roman woman. "I would be careful though," Vanora continued.

"Why, do you think he will try to retaliate," Cassia asked unconcernedly.

"No, at least nothing you cannot handle, but several Romans have taken notice of you. I would stay close to Tristan the rest of the night just for safety's sake," Vanora warned in a motherly fashion although the Roman woman probably was several years her senior.

Cassia returned to the table and placed the ale before Tristan and Bors before standing behind Tristan as would a slave. Tristan quickly rose from his seat and led her to a small table in the back of the tavern. Cassia followed without complaint and stood beside the table as Tristan sat. After several moments, Tristan realized that Cassia had no intention of sitting and spoke up.

"Am I that poor of company that you cannot even bring yourself to sit at a table with me," Tristan asked indifferently.

"I did not think it my place," Cassia apologized as she took the seat that Tristan pointed out to her. "Thank you," she said as she sat. Immediately, there was a bowl of stew being placed before her by Vanora. Cassia smiled in thanks and began to eat. She had been at the fort little over two days and she could already see a difference in he figure. She was happy not to look and be starved anymore.

Tristan did not acknowledge Cassia's actions against Lancelot, but instead, he mentioned the Romans. "They have been watching you all evening. Are you sure that your name does not precede you?" Cassia shook her head as she stopped eating to glance at the lethal scout.

"Perhaps they do not understand how you came upon a slave such as myself," she offered as she glanced around the tavern.

"I do not like it," Tristan finally said with conviction. "Finish your meal, and we shall leave." Several minutes later Tristan and Cassia left the tavern without another word to anyone but Vanora and returned to the barracks. "You shall have a cot of your own in a matter of days, but until then you may take mine," Tristan offered as they entered the room. Cassia just nodded, knowing that Tristan did not want her thanks.

Cassia simply turned her back to the scout and removed her gown leaving her in only a shift. She folded the dress neatly as she padded over to the scout's chest of clothes with bare feet. Tristan stood on the other side of the room removing several knives from his coat and tunic. He watched as Cassia gently placed her own garments to the side of his without disturbing anything within the chest. He appreciated her ability to find her place without intruding on the already existent one. Tristan began to remove his own clothing as he finished disarming.

Cassia kept her back to the scout as she began to hear the movement of fabric. She sat on the edge of the bed facing one of the windows in his room. The sun had set long ago and she could only see the brightest stars in the night sky. She nearly jumped when Tristan spoke. "Your courage is coming back," Tristan said with indifference.

Cassia turned to see Tristan wearing only his worn breeches as he padded over to the tub that still sat within his chambers from the night before. Cassia hadn't noticed that it was filled until now as she glanced at it. "It takes no courage to stand up to a man when he is incapable of fighting back," Cassia said with little emotion of her own as she lay down upon the threadbare sheets.

"How are your feet fairing," Tristan asked as he felt the water with a finger as he went to stoke the hearth.

"How is your calf," Cassia shot back feeling it silly that he should worry about her injuries when he had plenty of his own. She received no reply as he prodded the logs within the blaze for a moment.

"Would you like…" Tristan was cut off before he could offer his bath.

"It is yours, sir. I would not take your bath from you two evenings in a row. You look as though you could use the relaxation," Cassia said before he could finish his offer. "Besides, I am far too tired to rise again," Cassia said as she rolled to her side and closed her eyes.

Tristan simply grunted as he moved from the hearth to the tub. He let his previously untied breeches fall to the ground as he climbed into the steaming water. As he lay back against the cold side of the container, he tried to let his muscles relax. This worked until he tried to flex his injured leg.

Cassia heard Tristan hiss as some water was displaced from the tub. She hesitantly opened one eye to see what was amiss, and found herself watching the glow of the raging fireplace dance along the scout's glistening back. She sighed appreciatively at the sight before noticing the grimace on the scout's face. She knew immediately that Tristan must be in a great deal of pain if he was showing any emotion at all, even if he thought that no one was watching. Cassia silently rose from the cot and went to the tub. Tristan sat with his wounded leg raised out of the bathwater and resting on the rim of the container. His entire lower leg was painfully swollen, and Cassia couldn't help but cringe herself at the sickly purple color of it.

"Perhaps I should call a healer," Cassia spoke softly as she knelt beside the tub without ever peering into the murky water.

"Return to bed," was all that Tristan said as she tentatively touched the injured flesh. "That was not a suggestion," Tristan said when she made no sign of leaving.

"May I try something," Cassia asked without thought to his order. Tristan just grunted as her fingers brushed an especially sensitive spot on his lower calf. Cassia took that as consent, and she went to retrieve the chair the sat several feet away. Cassia sat on the lone chair in front of the tub and took Tristan's injured leg into her lap. She gently began to knead his sensitive calf with the most gentle of touches.

At first, Tristan felt like his leg was on fire as she worked on it, but soon enough the pain began to dull. He began to relax back against the tub as she massaged his leg. "My husband broke his leg as a child, and would often have pain because of it as an adult… This used to make it bearable for him when it was at its worst," Cassia explained after several minutes of silence. Tristan did not say anything but instead closed his eyes and relaxed further. There was no use arguing with the woman. Once he let himself relax, he ministrations began to actually feel pleasant. Soon he found himself unable to keep his eyelids from closing.

When Cassia was finished, she gently placed his leg back in the cooling water and rose from her seat. Cassia went to put the chair away when she noticed that the scout was actually asleep. "When was the last time had a real night's sleep," she whispered as she gently touched his shoulder. Tristan did not rouse as she timidly shook him, and she realized it was probably longer than she thought.

Cassia took the linen cloth that lay beside the tub and began to wash the sleeping scout. She did it without emotion as she had when he was ill, but now she took the time to study each of his many scars. The man seemed to be one mass of scar tissue as she washed his torso. She smiled slightly when she saw the crescent scar on his shoulder where she dug the arrow out of him. What was in reality only about two weeks, seemed like a lifetime to her. Several months ago, she would have never dreamed that she would be standing here tending to the man that had wagered her freedom on stealing from.

When she was finished washing his body, Cassia carefully unbraided his hair. She poured water on it with cupped hands so as not to wake him. She washed his hair quickly, and then rebraided it before stepping back from the sleeping knight. She doubted that she could get him out of the tub without injuring herself or waking the scout. Quietly Cassia went to the door and cracked it open. She padded down the hall in her thin shift that had become rather wet during the process of washing the scout. It was quite transparent in several spots, but Cassia doubted that anyone would notice at this hour of the night.

Cassia went straight to Dagonet's quarters as she hurried down the corridor. She knocked quietly only once not wishing to disturb him if he had already retired for the night. After several moments the door opened to reveal a shirtless Dagonet holding several pouches of herbs. "Is everything alright, Cassia," he asked in concern as he took in her appearance in the dim light of the corridor.

"I am well, I hope I did not disturb you, but I need a favor," she said shyly as she wrung her sopping shift.

"I was just organizing some healing supplies, no harm done," Dagonet assured her in a gentle tone. "What is it you need," he asked softly.

Cassia studied her toes as she said, "Tristan fell asleep in his bath, and I fear I cannot move him without trouble arising." At Dagonet's soft laugh Cassia quickly added. "I would wake him, but he has not slept a full night since before he found me at the village. I fear that is why his leg still swells and refuses to heal properly."

Dagonet sobered immediately at her words and answered, "Come, let us see what we can do." Dag followed her back to the scout's quarters where he still lay asleep in the tub of cool bath water. Dagonet couldn't help but smile at his sleeping friend. "He shall never learn," was all Dagonet said as he carefully approached the scout and gently lifted him from the bath water without a second thought. Water slipped off the scout's sleek body as Dagonet carried him to the cot and laid him on the linens Cassia had laid out.

Cassia immediately took to drying the sleeping form of Tristan as Dagonet began to clean up the mess that had been made by the tub. Cassia simply wrapped the scout in several linens not truly knowing whether to clothe him again or to leave him as he was. She just left him in the linens and covered him with the blankets to his cot. Dagonet watched as she removed a strain of wet hair from the scout's peaceful face and smiled.

"He protects you from dangerous Romans, and you protect him from treacherous bath water," Dag said with a smile as she helped him with the mess.

"No one can say I do not pay my debts," Cassia yawned as she poured some water over the fire in the hearth.

"No, I suppose they can't," Dagonet agreed as he headed for the door. "You are the first woman I have met that has not either cowered from him or tried to figure him out… I thought you would have killed each other by now, but perhaps you understand each other whether you realize it or not." Dag slipped out of the room before another word could be said.

Cassia just looked to the door then back at the sleeping form of the scout. She smiled as he looked so peaceful for once. She then wrapped her cloak around herself and took to sleeping on the floor. She didn't mind sleeping on the floor, and she certainly didn't mind doing it if Tristan himself needed the bed far more than she. Cassia quickly drifted off to sleep being more tired than she realized from the night's events.

XxX

I hope you liked this one because this is the last light chapter before things start to heat up again.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapters, and please continue to let me know what you think!


	23. Hunting

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything**

Chapter 23 Hunting

Tristan rode out of the fort on his daily scout of the perimeter. He usually used it as a time to escape the nonsense that went on behind the walls of the fortress as well as watch for any Woad activity. Today, however, Tristan just wanted to be able to ride and hunt. If there were Woads in the area, then so be it, but Tristan was not going to let it stop him from clearing his head. Dinadan had shown him the best scouting routes as well as the best hunting trails. They had spent many a brisk morning silently riding through the forest enjoying the hunt. It was as close to a religious experience as Tristan had and probably would ever get.

Tristan rode in a silence that even the dead would envy as he headed for his favorite trail. It was the first one that Dinadan had introduced him to once her was strong enough to go out. Tristan still remembered those days like they were not really part of the past because they were always with him. As Tristan leaned back in his saddle and breathed in the fresh dawn air, he recalled his first year at the fort.

_Dagonet had deemed Tristan fit enough to ride the previous day, and since then the scout had not come off his mount's back for more than a few moments at a time. Tristan had circled the paddock enough times that there was an ankle deep trench running around it from his horses trotting. The animal seemed as content as the knight did so no one bothered to stop them. All of the knights agreed that it was good to see Tristan do something besides skulk in the shadows for once. Most of them were shocked at what an excellent horsemen he was, considering he was rather lacking in other aspects such as strength and communication. _

_Dinadan had been sitting on the fence watching Tristan the entire time that he had been on the horse. A small satisfied smile crept into his features as he watched the younger scout in his element. Tristan may not have been able to lift a large sword yet, but he made up for it with his skill with animals. Dinadan had seen him sneakily snatch the wounded hawk away from the party of Romans that had shot it out of the sky. Dinadan had nearly broken out into laughter when he walked into Tristan's room the next day to find the bird swathed in bandages and nestled contentedly on the scout's chest as he slept. Dinadan had said nothing of the peculiar choice of company because he thought that it would be good for Tristan to have a companion, feathered or not. Dinadan knew that Tristan needed to help another heal before his own wounds would recede._

_Dinadan was woken from his musings by the chunks of earth that flew at him from Tristan's horse halting in front of him. "Tris," Dinadan groaned as he looked at his previously clean tunic and breeches. Tristan's smile, however, prevented Dinadan from staying angry. Dinadan had never seen his friend smile before and didn't think he would be seeing it again for a very long while from the way that it looked foreign to his face. Dinadan immediately got an idea. "Tristan, how would you like to go hunting?" Dinadan knew this would not go over well with Arthur who was still treating Tristan as though he were made of glass. Dinadan could not completely blame his commander, though. It had been Arthur who had gone personally to ask for Tristan's transfer into his cavalry unit. It had been Arthur who had met the heartless men who he called countrymen that had flayed the skin right off Tristan's back. It was Arthur alone who met the child that was left with no mother and very little semblance of a father. It had been Arthur who had given up more than Dinadan made in a year so that a man who he barely knew could be amongst people who would not take pleasure in beating him to death._

_Arthur had only told Dinadan that a child existed. He had not even spoken of her with Tristan for fear that it would set back the knight's progress. Dinadan had inquired as to what had become of the lass, and Arthur had reassured him that she was being taken well cared for by an old friend of the mother. Arthur had not divulged any other information to his knight and Dinadan had not tried to pry. It was Arthur's concern not his, the knight standing before him, however, was his concern. "So, what do you say Tris," Dinadan asked one last time as he slid from the fence. Tristan just nodded as he, atop his horse, followed Dinadan to the stables._

Tristan cherished every memory of those days even if they tended to haunt him from time to time. He gave his horse lead and just relaxed as they wandered through the brush close to the massive wall. Tristan glanced to the sky above where his watchful hawk glided on the up drafts. He knew that his ever present companion would warn him of any dangers, and therefore let himself enjoy the freedom of his solitude. It had been ages since Tristan had been able to ride freely and forget about the daily struggles of life at the wall.

Tristan knew that he was wound tighter than the braids in his hair and hoped that this relaxing ride would relieve some of the tension in his shoulders. Tristan just needed to run through the swaying fields of wheat astride his faithful stallion as he hunted. He just needed to feel the late summer breeze weaving through his braids. He just needed to lie upon the sun warmed earth as his hawk lazily danced across the sky. Tristan just needed a moment of escape in order to be himself again, or at least the self he had been for the past two years.

Tristan watched as his horse grazed, not even fazed by the weight of the knight on his back. Tristan just looked out through the expanse of thick foliage toward freedom. He remembered all the times Dinadan had accompanied him through this part of the immense forest. Tristan lifted his bow from the saddle and began his ritual of the hunt. Guiding his horse with his knees Tristan glided into the dark forest like a specter to the afterlife. He was home.

_Dinadan rode ahead of Tristan at a brisk pace, leading the scout to his favorite hunting grounds. He wasn't concerned about Tristan's injuries knowing that once his young companion was outside the confines of the fort, he would be fine. Dinadan knew that Tristan was just as wild as the hawk he had rescued, and he needed to feel the wind in his face in order to feel alive. They rode hard out of the fort along the wall toward the thick forest. There hadn't been any Woad sightings in over a fortnight so Dinadan didn't fear bringing the recovering scout into unprotected territory. _

_After nearly a half an hour of riding through the forest Dinadan brought his horse to a halt. Tristan rode up beside him and waited for the elder knight to give an instruction. Dinadan retrieved his bow from his saddle and turned to his companion, "Are you ready," he asked more to say something than from true concern. Tristan just nodded as he retrieved his own bow from his saddle. Tristan had very few belongings upon arriving at the fort, but the well-crafted Sarmatian bow was among them. Tristan had not let anymore else touch the weapon once he was coherent enough to tend to his own belongings. Though Dinadan doubted that the young scout had the strength to use to bow after only being able to get out of bed for a few days, he didn't stop Tristan from trying. They let their horses walk slowly through the dense forest as they searched for any sign of deer or hare. _

_They had been traveling in silence for nearly an hour, when Tristan halted his horse. The average hunter would have attempted to shoot the young deer that was in the path even if he knew he were out of range; Tristan, on the other hand, knew his limits and didn't need to try to prove anything to Dinadan. Tristan raised his hand signaling to his companion that he had found a target. Dinadan silently made his way over to his friend and glanced at him for permission. At Tristan's nod, Dinadan took aim and felled the sleek doe._

_Tristan was well satisfied with their hunt as they began to head back to the fort. He had spotted two fine deer and actually shot a small hare that had ventured too close. It was not the greatest shot Tristan had ever made, and he had ended up jumping from his saddle to break the poor creature's neck so that it wouldn't suffer from his poorly aimed shot. Tristan found no honor or pride in letting an animal suffer to its end. Even when he had had to fight in the few skirmishes that he had been a part of, he aimed to kill not inflict unnecessary pain. _

_As they rode back to the fort, Dinadan called over his shoulder, "There's a shortcut through here that we'll take." Tristan followed without hesitation. He trusted Dinadan which was something he didn't do with many people but if he found trust he valued it greatly and was fiercely loyal. _

_They rode seemingly in the opposite direction of the fort for several minutes when Dinadan kicked his horse into a swift gallop as though he had done this many times before. Tristan kicked his horse into a run as well following Dinadan's trail at a slightly slower pace. Tristan was beginning to get tired from all the riding since he had barely moved off his bed for the past few months. However, he refused to let his fatigue stop him from being free of the confines of the fort and his room._

_Suddenly, Tristan broke through the thick trees into a small clearing in the middle of the forest housing a small yet powerful waterfall. Dinadan had already dismounted and was standing at the edge of the water. Tristan quickly joined him for a swim in the crystal water. _

_As Tristan's strength returned they made regular trips out into the forest to hunt and swim whenever they could escape. Whenever they returned from battle Dinadan would drag Tristan from the fort and let him roam freely around the forest in order to lull the bloodlust that Tristan tended to be taken by. Even after Dinadan's death by a blade that was meant for Tristan, the younger scout would find his only solace in the small clearing that Dinadan had found for him._

Tristan was woken from his memories as his horse found its way into the very clearing that contained all of Tristan's joyous memories of the fort. Tristan had been hunting for over two hours and had caught himself several hare and one stag. It was not an especially large catch for the scout, but it was enough to quench Tristan's need of the hunt. Tristan slid off his stallion's back and gracefully walked to the edge of the water. It had been so long since he had just lain in the grass or taken a swim that Tristan found himself indulging in the freedom of the moment.

Tristan's light mood was shattered, however, when he saw something floating in the water near the edge of the pond. His hawk eyes made out a piece of armor, and before Tristan realized it he was dashing into the water to retrieve it. Upon reaching the piece of armor, Tristan realized that it belonged to Percival and had blood coating the parts of it that weren't submerged in water. Tristan went roaring out of the pond like a hawk descending upon its prey. He was only half dressed as remounted before another thought had a chance to enter his mind.

Tristan was flying through the forest toward the closest Woad territory that he knew of, hoping that he would find Percival still alive. Tristan knew exactly why Percival's armor was floating in the water and the knight was missing. Tristan himself had done the same thing after Dinadan's death. He, himself, had gone out into the Woads' territory looking to shed some blood and hopefully die in the process taking as many blue demons with him as possible. However, there was a difference between Tristan and Percival. Although Tristan had arrived at the fort with little skill in the way of weapons and little hope in the way of strength, Tristan was now the fiercest and most skilled warrior any of the knights had ever seen. Tristan was cold and calculated never, even in the heat of the moment, letting his emotions dictate his attacks. Percival, though one of the best knights, fought with his heart because he still had one to fight with. Now, Tristan rode through the dense forest in hopes of finding that heart still beating, but with every passing moment his hopes lessened.

Tristan broke into the Woad camp grounds in a fury that would have scared the devil himself. He looked like a demon with his chest bare from lack of time to dress and his scars showing brightly. Every line on his skin attested to fury which consumed him during every battle. Every Woad within five kilometer radius would have fled for their life had they not already done so when their scouts alerted them of Tristan's approach.

There in the center of the clear hung Percival from his wrists. His body looked to have been stabbed with hundreds of daggers, and his throat had been slit. Tristan was at his vacant brother's side in the blink of an eye cutting him out of the tree and slinging him over his shoulder. Tristan was actually gentle with the body of his comrade, friend, as he laid him in the saddle in front of him. Tristan hugged the dead knight to his bare chest as he began his journey home. This was not the time to hunt down Percival's murderers or the time to retrieve his abandoned armor. It was time to bring his friend back to their brothers even if Percival would never know it. This was his duty as a comrade, a brother.

As Tristan rode he forgot about the serenity of riding uninhibited through the forest and swimming in the crystal lake. All he could think about was the dead weight that he hugged tightly to his chest and how this was his own fault. Tristan had never been close to any of the knights besides Dinadan and maybe Dagonet, but Percival held a place in his frozen heart. He and Percival had never had an actual conversation, but they had donated their presence when it was needed. Tristan could remember the countless times that Percival had just sat across the table from him in a dark corner of the tavern, so that Tristan would not be able to wallow alone. He remembered the way Percival would volunteer to go scouting with him if Tristan needed a hand. Percival had been a presence that had helped Tristan through his shadows without intruding like Arthur or Lancelot would often due.

Tristan knew the brotherhood that Percival and Lamorak had shared was close to what he and Dinadan had forged, but Tristan couldn't help but think that he had abandoned Percival when he was needed most. When Dinadan moved on Percival was there to coax Tristan back to the real world. When Lamorak died… Tristan cringed when he realized that he was off hunting for his sword. He had ignored Percival's pain and covered it with his own self pity. Then he had brought back the one person that had Percival loathed most, the woman that had dishonored Lamorak so as to take away from his burial. Tristan had been unfeeling of his other brothers' reactions when he decided to enslave Cassia, and now Percival was dead. Had Tristan not been out all night playing protector to Cassia then he would have been in the tavern to see Percival's anguish and save him from blind fury.

Tristan was haunted by such thoughts all the way back to the fort. His raged shifted from himself, to Cassia, to Percival, to his brothers, and even to Arthur's God who never seemed to be present when he was needed most. By the time the fort was in view, the sun was beginning to set and his catch was long forgotten.

XxX

Well, I hope you enjoyed this. Sorry that Cassia doesn't make an appearance but she will be in the next one. Tell me what you think about Tristan's memories and his findings.

Thank you to my reviewers. Please continue to let me know what you think. It's always appreciated.


	24. Pains of a Beating Heart

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything that you recognize.**

Chapter 24 Pains of a Beating Heart

Cassia woke to a soft knock on the door to Tristan's chambers and Vanora's cheerful face peeking in through the door. Vanora had a key to each of the knights' rooms so that she could clean and mend their belongings while they were away. Cassia wiped the sleep out of her eyes as she motioned for Vanora to enter. Vanora was followed in by two young girls of no more than five years of age. They both had their mothers red hair and jovial smile, but Cassia saw some of their father in them as well. Vanora gestured for her to stay in bed as the three of them had only brought food for her.

"How are ye, dear," Vanora asked as she gently placed a tray across Cassia's lap.

"I'm doing well, although my feet ache something terrible this morning," Cassia replied. She began to slowly eat her breakfast when one of Vanora's daughters pulled the shade and revealed the afternoon light from outside. Cassia nearly choked when she asked, "What time is it Vanora?"

"Nearly three hours past midday. When I came in not much past dawn you were as silent as a lamb so I thought that you needed the rest. Tristan didn't say anything about waking you when he left so I thought he'd let you be resting," Vanora said in confusion at Cassia's franticness.

"I have to do the washing and mending before evening or Tristan will have my head," Cassia cried to the redhead. She hadn't even realized that she was no longer on the floor but in the bed Tristan had been occupying the night before. "We were just starting to come to an understanding of sorts. He'll chain me up now for sure," she sighed and fell back onto the bed.

Vanora seemed nonplussed by Cassia's outburst as she assured the woman, "Tristan isn't back yet, dear. He just takes off sometimes and doesn't come back till dusk or even dawn once in a while. Arthur never questions it because Tristan always seems to show up if trouble begins to stir. He goes out when he needs to collect himself. It was something that Dinadan used to do with him." Vanora stood lifting the abandoned tray with her. "If you're worried about him finding out, don't think about it. You just get dressed and we'll take care of the knights' wash together. We'll be finished in no time at all, and then I'll show you how to mend their garments because Tristan says you can barely hold a needle."

The women had started their chores three hours prior, and it was beginning to get late. Tristan still had not returned to the fort. Cassia was beginning to worry even though Vanora kept shushing her by saying that Tristan could care for himself. "What if he met some more Woads, he isn't fully healed yet," Cassia worried her bottom lips as she scrubbed at one of Gawain's light tunics.

"Love, Tristan is the last knight I would worry about when it comes to fending off Woads. Did he survive fifteen of those demons when he rescued you, not to mention he didn't have his sword then," Vanora pointed out as she mended one of Galahad's torn tunics. Cassia nodded sheepishly as she realized that she was truly being foolish. She hadn't really been able to tell that his leg still bothered him until he let her see it. Tristan was not one to let anything get the better of him. "So, Dag tells me that he had to help you with quite a situation last night," Vanora quickly changed the subject.

Cassia laughed lightly as she answered. "If you call a very unconscious, very wet, very naked Tristan 'quite a situation,' then yes, he did aid me in moving it," Cassia said with a small smirk playing on her lips.

"No love, that certainly isn't a situation. That, my dear, is a sight for sore eyes," Vanora laughed at Cassia's shocked countenance.

"You have a lover," Cassia sputtered at Vanora's jest.

"I may love Bors, but have you taken a good look at the man," Vanora asked the shocked Roman.

"But you're…"

"I love Bors and all his bastards, don't get me wrong. But being a woman of fine taste, I have a keen appreciation for a fine man. Tristan just happens to be very fine," Vanora said. She smiled inwardly as she realized that Cassia's attention was no longer concerned with the scout's well being, but other matters of the scout entirely. She hoped that her little hints would get Cassia to admit she might have feelings for the stubborn scout.

Cassia was consumed by laughed as she saw Vanora waggle her eyebrows. "Vanora, you are far too much," Cassia cried as she tried to calm herself.

"Dear, if you live amongst these brutes long enough you will be just as crude as I am. Anyway, I am a mother of eight I am allowed to speak about whoever I want. It comes with the territory, and I can embarrass all of them as well," Vanora explained as she took up her mending again.

"Eight children…I think I would rather be the butt of everyone's jokes from here to eternity," Cassia admitted.

"Don't like children? You're more like our scout than I thought. He can't stand to look at them unless I shove one into his arms. He's the only knight I can't get to watch them if I need a break. Even Lancelot has been known to take care of them from time to time," Vanora confessed.

"Tis not that I don't like children. It is just that I shall never have one of my own," Cassia said.

"Why not, love? There are plenty of fine men around here that would love a pretty lass such as yourself," Vanora looked confused.

"The only man I would have ever loved to have children with, rests in the cold earth of Rome. I shall never love another, and I certainly will never marry another. After all, I am eight-and-twenty summers. Who would want one such as myself," Cassia said as she lowered her gaze to her washing.

Before Vanora could reply, the gates of the fort began to open. Both women looked to see Tristan ride through the gates with a bundle wrapped in his cloak in front of him. Cassia let out a sigh of relief as she rushed to see if Tristan needed anything.

Tristan didn't stop in the courtyard, but instead galloped into the stables with little thought to anything but the body wrapped in his cloak. He was torn from his concentration by Cassia and Vanora who came running into the barn to see him.

"Can I do anything for you, master," Cassia asked in her most respectful of voices. Tristan's ire rose as he took notice of his foolish slave.

"Yes, go to my chambers and wait for me there. Do not leave until I come for you," Tristan ground out as he stopped his stallion. "Vanora," he called to the redhead who had entered just behind his property. "See to it that she does not leave my room, and fetch the others. We will be meeting in the table room, immediately." Tristan's voice was harsh and Vanora knew not to question him in such a mood. Sadly, Cassia knew no such thing.

"Did something go wrong Tristan," she asked nervously as she followed him as he walked his steed to its stall. "What is under the cloak?"

"I gave you an order. If you choose not to follow it then I hope you enjoy having your back flayed because I am not in the mood to put up with your pestering," Tristan growled as he dismounted and caught the body in his arms. Cassia turned immediately and rushed out of the stables toward the barracks as Vanora studied the boots of the covered body.

"Percival," was all she could choke out. Tristan nodded curtly as he began to make his way to the table room. Vanora had tears slipping down her cheeks as she walked beside him for a moment. "He was so… Lamorak's death just… He didn't deserve this," she said between sobs.

Tristan reigned in his anger and frustration for a brief moment simply because Vanora had been nothing but a friend to him since he arrived at the fort. "Van, she is not to leave my room do you hear me?"

"What are you going to do to her? This isn't her fault. She spent all afternoon worrying that you might be out there looking something like this," Vanora gestured to Percival's covered corpse. She just began sobbing harder when she looked at him. "He died with Lamorak; his body just didn't realize it for a while," she said as she ran off to fetch the others.

By the time Tristan reached the meeting room, all the others had gathered. They all sat in ignorance of the burden Tristan carried in his arms as he knocked open the chamber doors.

"Tristan, what's the meaning of this," Lancelot called, still a bit angry at the previous night's events. Tristan didn't answer as he carried the cloak covered body of his comrade to the table and laid it out for all to see. There was a dark silence as Tristan removed the cloak that covered Percival's lifeless face. It wasn't until then that they noticed the blood covering Tristan's bare torso or the vacant look in his eyes. "Tristan…" Lancelot never finished.

"He went hunting," Tristan said in a dark tone. "He looked for death and it found him."

"Tristan, take a seat," Arthur said as he noticed Tristan slightly swaying as he gazed at his comrade's body. Tristan seated himself in his usual place beside where Percival would have been seated had he not been lying lifeless on the round table. "What happened," Arthur asked his trusted scout once everyone was seated and staring at Percival's body.

"I found him strung up in a Woad camp. I had found his armor in a stream closer to the fort. He had probably stopped to fill his water skin when he was ambushed," Tristan spoke as though he were giving a simple scouting report rather than his opinion on his comrade's cause of death.

"They didn't even have the decency to give him an honorable death. It looks like they strung him up and stabbed him till he bled to death then slight his throat," Gawain cringed as he took in his friend's corpse. "I mean if there were so many of them why couldn't they have let him die with a sword in his hands like a warrior?"

"Gawain…" Kay said softly to the young knight.

"They're damn beasts. We don't tie them up like ornaments and hang them from the wall," Gawain cried as he stood abruptly knocking his chair over in the process.

"Maybe we should," came the dark reply from Tristan.

"What," Arthur asked in confusion.

"Hang a couple Woads from the wall, see how they like finding their best warriors strung up like pigs," Tristan's voice was deathly calm as he removed a knife from his breeches and began to clean his nails.

"Men, we must honor Percival before we plan any retaliation against the Woads. He shall be honored properly just as all our other brothers who have passed before have been honored. Dagonet take the body to be prepared. Bors, see to it that Vanora prepares supper for us here. Kay, watch them," Arthur gestured to a furious looking Gawain and a sick looking Galahad. "Lancelot…"

"Arrangements, yes I know," Lancelot said as he rose from his seat.

"Tristan, will you retrieve his armor and prepare his things for his grave," Arthur asked knowing the amount of care Tristan tended his own possessions with. Tristan simply nodded as he too stood and left the room. "Dismissed," Arthur called to the remaining men and soon the hall was vacant besides for Arthur who still sat at the table with his head in his hands.

Jols stepped into the room as he heard his commander sobbing. "Percival's been dead for weeks Arthur," said the trusted squire. "He died out there with Lamorak. You can' stop a man from loving his best friend with his own life. Percival chose his death so that he could take as many of those demons with his as he could as he avenged Lamorak. That's more than most of them will get," Jols said as he sat beside his master. "Percival's death has nothing to do with you, no matter how much you blame yourself. It is not worth the tears you'll spend because he is happier now than he has been in weeks," Jols said as he patted Arthur on the shoulder and left the room.

Tristan nearly rode his mount into the ground as he entered the fort with such speed that the horse could barely slow in time as it entered the courtyard for the second time that day. Tristan dismounted and threw the reins to Jols as he carried Percival's equipment to his quarters. Tristan said nothing as he threw open the doors to his room to find Cassia laying curled up on the cot asleep. Normally Tristan would not bother her, but he was still angered that she was alive and Percival was not. Kicking the bed as he passed, Cassia shot awake.

"Get up wench," Tristan said before she could fully rub the sleep from her eyes. Cassia was slow at comprehending his request and before she could actually comply, Tristan was dragging her from the covers and throwing her on the floor beside the door. As she violently hit the wall she noticed a large metal ring sticking up from the floor. Tristan retrieved a chain from his chest and proceeded to hook it through the ring and attach it to her shackles. "I said that if you did not listen to me you would be taught discipline. I am not one to lie," he growled as he shoved her against the wall again. Cassia simply whimpered at the scout's harsh treatment but did not utter a word of complaint.

Tristan went back to his task as he sat on his cot with Percival's affects. He gently cleaned every article and weapon with the greatest of care. Cassia watched him treat the other man's possessions as though they were his very own. She cringed when she realized what that meant. Percival's superstitions finally ran out. He must have made a false step or taken one too many drinks before leaving the fort. Now he was dead and there was nothing that could be done about it but mourn. She felt tears coming to her eyes for a man that she barely even knew, for a man that probably despised her.

Tristan caught her crying as he glanced up from his work. "What are you crying about wench? You didn't know him. Hell, you even dishonored his friend with you little antics with my sword. You have no right to cry over his death. You shouldn't be alive right now, he should," Tristan barked as he pointed one of the other man's daggers at the Roman. "Now shut up or I won't think twice about it as I slit your throat."

Cassia choked back a final sob and went silent for Tristan's sake. She could feel the pain piercing his thawing heart. That was the trouble with letting one's self feel again. Once one opened him self up, then he couldn't decide what he felt anymore. Pain was just as real to him as it was everyone else.

Tristan finished his task a little before dawn and left the room without even glancing at Cassia as he opened the door which hit her as he threw it against the wall. He simply left the room and headed for the burial site. The others were also proceeding to the site as the predawn light began to brighten the sky. Everyone stood before Percival's freshly dug grave as the sun rose brilliantly in the east. Unlike Lamorak's burial, the clouds had separated for a time and the sun actually warmed the dead earth. Arthur spoke words of remembrance over the tear laden land and the others honored their friend through their memories. Everyone proceeded to the tavern well before noon and began their ritual of remembering their comrade while drinking themselves into a stupor. Vanora watched them with sorrowful eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to stop them. They had every right to do anything that would dull their pain if only for a moment. The only knight who did not drink this day was Tristan who was not so quick to forget the consequences of the last time he had honored his fellow brother as such.

No, Tristan had other plans for honoring his comrade with the blood of as many Woads as he could find. He also had a certain Roman to think of punishments for as he sat in his dark corner watching his brethren mourn their latest loss.

Cassia sat in the desolate room the entire day while the knights mourned yet another brother. Tristan had yet to return and Cassia was beginning to hope that he wouldn't. The widowed Roman sat chained to the floor in the room of the man that she not only owed her life to but repaid with deceit of her own. Once Tristan had left, just before dawn, Cassia no longer tried to hide her tears. They had risen in her eyes like the Nile in spring and had flooded her features ever since. Cassia could barely take a breath as she sobbed continuously.

So many thoughts plagued her mind that Cassia could barely focus her attention to her current predicament. She knew that punishment, though she knew not what for, was to be expected upon Tristan's return, but that was far from her largest concern. Cassia thought of her home back in Rome and her family. She remembered the day that she had told her mother of her engagement. How her mother had laughed so heartlessly and begged her not to joke of such things for no man in his right mind would wish a girl such as her. Her mother had told her that she was useless, no better than the common whore. She had said that no one wanted her not even her family, that she was of no use to anyone. She was a waste. Cassia's sobs grew louder when she recalled her departure from Rome.

_Cassia marched like one of the soldiers that Rome was famous for as she made her way through the crowded streets of the city. Death encompassed her as she made her way up the marble steps of Lady Lucia's estate. She was dressed in black and her skirts and shawl blew in the wind as she marched on. As she reached the top of the stairs all one could see was the cloud of darkness that approached the villa. Cassia was in mourning not just over the loss of a husband but for the loss of the only person that valued her life to some degree._

_Cassia marched to the kitchens where she knew she could find her mother bossing about the servants as she had quite often done to Cassia herself. Cassia stopped in the doorway to the kitchens as she took in the sight of her mother sitting on a small sofa in the corner of the room overseeing all that went on. Her mother was a long time friend of Lady Lucia and was trusted to oversee where she saw fit. Her cruel nature made her perfect for keeping a disciplined staff. Cassia paused only a moment before making her way to her mother. _

"_Lady Valeria," Cassia said with all proper etiquette as she bowed to her mother._

"_Cassia," Valeria said with mild disgust as she looked upon the black clad figure of her daughter. Valeria had never had patience for Cassia's free spirit and unwillingness to conform to her mother's strict ideals. Cassia had no skills that any Roman looking for a good wife would value. Where most women could cook, mend, respect authority, and raise children; Cassia did not have the taste for cooking, the skill for mending, the humility for authority, or the patience for children. Cassia was by no means a free thinking woman, but she simply did not have the talent for being a proper one. _

_What angered Valeria most about her youngest daughter was the fact that she believed in the old traditions. Rome was not a place for pagans any longer, but Cassia insisted that the traditions of old should be upheld if not for the gods then for the honor and respect that came with them. Cassia was pure of spirit and rejected the corruption that was spreading through Rome like Nero's fire. Valeria herself was as corrupt as a woman could get and it infuriated her to see her daughter's innocence._

"_Lady Valeria, I come to tell you that I take my leave of Rome this very evening. I shall be traveling to Spain then Gaul. I doubt I shall return to Rome, but as you very well know there is nothing left for me here. I simply wish to make you aware of my departure," Cassia said emotionlessly as she bowed again._

"_It is very improper to leave the city just days after your husband's funeral. What will the people think; you have barely even begun your mourning. There is no possible way I could condone such a blatant disregard for tradition," Valeria said with contempt._

"_They are not my traditions," Cassia said with boredom._

"_No, your traditions were outlawed by the church nearly one hundred years ago. You show disrespect for this family by leaving without proper mourning. If you leave, you leave without my blessing. If you choose to go to Spain then you are never welcome in my house again," Valeria spat as she fanned herself from the heat of the kitchens._

"_I was never welcomed in your house, mother. The only difference now is that I no longer wish for welcome. I have grown enough to realize that I am nothing to you, so you are in turn nothing to me," Cassia said coldly. _

"_You were never worth your keep, you little trollop. You never had beauty like Livia or skills like myself. You were a burden from the first day I brought you into this world and you are still worth naught. Go off to Spain and Gaul and even Britain. I hope the natives eat your useless bones because then at least some one will benefit from your wasted existence," Valeria said caustically._

_Cassia showed no reaction to her mother's poisonous words, but instead bowed politely. "I take my leave of you, Lady," she said as she bowed once more and left the kitchens in a flurry of black._

Cassia hated to think of her past or her family, but every time she thought of them her mind traveled to the present. She was bound to Tristan by the debt of her life, but more than that she was bound by her own need to prove her worth. In the few days that Tristan had not scorned her, Cassia had found herself becoming loyal to him. Tristan did not berate her as her mother had, he did not use her as her husband had, and he did not abuse her as Rome had. He simply treated her as he would anyone else in her position, and she was grateful for it.

Cassia knew he was furious with her and would most likely lash or beat her. Yet every time her mind came back to him, she felt the need to prove her worth to him above all others. She wanted to show him that she wasn't simply a thief but in fact a woman of some sort of use be it very small. Cassia dried her own tears as the sun fell lower in the sky and made a vow she swore to keep. She vowed that she would take all that Tristan threw at her without complaint for the hope that one day he would see her purpose.

XxX

Okay, so angry Tristan is back. What do you think of Cassia and Vanora? What about Cassia's mother and Cassia's vow?

I have bad news. I will be unable to update this story for about three weeks after Monday. I will not have an internet connection or even a computer for several weeks, but I hope to finish writing out the story in that time. Then when I get back, the chapters will be quicker in coming. I hope to get at least one more chapter up before Monday, so enjoy.

Thank you to my reviewers you keep me going! Please continue to let me know what you think.


	25. Time does not Heal all Wounds

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything thing that you recognize.**

Chapter 25 Time does not heal all Wounds

Tristan rode hard back toward the fort. He had been out all night on one of his hunts. It had been over a fortnight since he had seen a true battle or shed anyone's blood. The urge had been rising inside of him with each passing day and Cassia was baring the brunt of it. She was beginning to look less Roman and more Woad with all the blue and purple bruises running down her entire frame. Some days she could barely get out of bed due to the swelling or the pain, but she dutifully did everything that was asked of her without complaint.

It had been over three months since Percival's death and Tristan had never spoken more than a command or complaint to her in that time. He was beyond cold to her whenever they were together, but she never so much as said a word of complaint as to her treatment. He had overheard her speaking to one of the village healers as she purchased a salve for the lacerations on her back. The healer was in disbelief as to how Cassia could allow her body to bare such assault and Cassia had simply said, "He is a rough man. I am fed three good meals a day and protected from anyone who wishes me harm. What more could I ask for?" The elderly woman looked at her in disbelief, but Cassia said nothing more as she paid for the salve with the little bit of money she had saved from odd jobs the other knights would have her do.

Tristan knew that she was probably the only reason he was alive to hunt another day. She had dug several well placed arrows out of the scout's flesh over the past few months, but Tristan would not allow himself to feel again. He had given it a chance and it had once again left him bitter to the world. Tristan urged his horse to ride faster as he felt the cut across his ribs stretch uncomfortably. Ever since Percival's death, Tristan had once again taken to sneaking out of the fort and into the forest. There he would hunt down as many demons as he could, some blue some his own personal ones. Unlike Percival, Tristan always returned though sometimes in several more pieces than he left in.

_Tristan remembered one night when his mount had been grazed in the side by a stray arrow. The steed had swerved to avoid another arrow and Tristan had found himself struck by a low hanging tree branch. The impact was enough to throw him from his horse but not enough to render him unconscious. He had fought nearly twenty Woads with a heavily bleeding skull and received a spear to the ribs that would have been the end of him if it had not caught one of the metal rings in his armor. Tristan had barely made it into his quarters before he lost consciousness. He knew that Cassia would take care of him even if he was not worth saving. He had tossed her the keys to her shackles and she had immediately tended his aching head. By midday Tristan woke to a splitting headache, but Cassia had handed him a clay cup filled with some sort of remedy for such things. By the following day he was walking around as though nothing had happened, but he knew if Cassia hadn't been there his wounds would have probably become infected before even Dagonet found him. There was little they could do when a deep fever set in. Tristan had seen many brothers die from such an unpleasant fate._

Tristan glided into the courtyard of the fort as the sun began to crest Badon Hill. Jols came quickly to gather the reins of Tristan's mount as the scout swiftly headed for his own quarters, too exhausted to be trusted to tend his own steed. Quite often, fatigue would not stop the stubborn scout from tending his own mount, but the cut across his ribs was irritating him and his horse would sense it. So Tristan left the dapple gray stallion in the capable hands of Jols.

Cassia sat shackled to the floor yet again. Tristan knew by now that she would not leave his room if he was outside the fort, but Tristan seemed to take pleasure in showing his power over her. Three months Cassia had endured the cruel temper of the silent scout and had learned why the majority of the fort feared him and his blood lust. After Percival's funeral Tristan had flogged her simply for being alive while Percival was not, but she had taken it because he had truly gone easy on her once he heard her cry out at the first bite of leather. He had given her ten lashes, but he had done so as lightly as one could while wielding a whip. He had then tended her wounds with more care than she thought he possessed.

_Tristan had entered his quarters not long after the sun had set. As he stepped into his room, he found Cassia sitting in a heap on the floor with tracks from dried tears running down her face. Tristan quickly unchained her and lifted her from the floor by her hair. Cassia barely made a sound as he dragged to the cot and threw her against it. He made her lean over the small bed as he took out one of many daggers and cut the back of her dress open to the reveal smooth olive skin of her back. _

_Cassia didn't move as Tristan went to the chest at the end of his bed and retrieved a flagrum from the box. She had not seen such a device since she had left Rome. She had seen her mother carry one when she was in the mood to flay a slave that had angered her. Cassia had been wise enough to avoid her mother when she was in such moods. Cassia wondered how the scout had gotten his hands on such a weapon, but she realized that he could have stolen it from any number of Roman's around the fort. _

_Tristan looked at the cold leather of the two tailed whip. He had never used the weapon. He had actually stolen it from a Roman who was about to flog several innocent soldiers because he could not bare even the thought of such punishment. He knew what it was like to have the skin torn from his back by the bite of a whip. This flagrum only had two tails of leather, where as the one that he had been beaten with had three tails each adorned with metal hooks. The scorpion they had called it, and Tristan could still feel the pain as it dug through the soft skin of his back if he let his mind wander. But here he was preparing to give his most detested punishment to Cassia._

_Tristan raised the whip before he could talk himself out of it and remembered Percival's body hanging lifeless in the forest. He brought the whip down with quite a bit of force as he recalled Percival's face. However, he was torn out of his rage as soon as the leather met the smooth skin of Cassia's back, and he heard the unearthly sob that came from the innocent slave. Tristan barely could raise the leather to her back again after hearing her pain bring back memories of his own torture. He gave her ten lashes but none so strong as the first. The last three barely touched her skin before he drew the whip back. _

_When he finished, Tristan quickly lifted her onto the bed and pulled her dress back farther to reveal all of the damage he had done. Tristan quickly retrieved his own healing supplies and the water basin. He washed her back with the greatest of care and then he tended each of her wounds. Cassia hadn't made a sound after the first lash, and she continued her silence as he aided her. He had covered her back in clean cloths after he had finished cleaning each of her wounds. He ran the tips of his fingers gently down her quivering side then rose, tied her to the cot, and left before he did anymore damage._

_Tristan had ridden out of the fort and sat in the forest the entire night. His own back ached with the memories of his punishment. He could feel each scar along his back and legs. He cursed himself for hurting her, he cursed Percival for dying, he cursed Isolde for haunting him, and he cursed Roman for killing what little humanity he had. He had curled into a tight ball and vowed that he would be close to no one ever again. He would go back in the morning, and she would be naught more than a slave that he would treat as such. He would treat her no better or worse than any Roman would treat their slave._

She had recovered rather quickly from those injuries, but it was the bruises that she suffered most from. When Tristan could not sate the bloodlust that boiled within him, he became very free with his fists. Cassia would take every beating as best she could, but Tristan barely even realized what he was doing anymore. Some nights he would leave her locked in his room and not return until nearly dawn smelling of one of the tavern wenches. She had heard Vanora speaking about how in his four years at the fort she had only seen him take three whores. In the past three months he had taken nearly a dozen. When he wasn't sating that sort of lust, he was in the forest sating a different kind with Woad sacrifices.

Cassia absentmindedly rubbed her left wrist as she watched the warm glow in the early morning sky. Tristan would return soon, and she would either have to tend many wounds or begin her chores immediately. She yawned lightly as she stretched as best she could. She rarely slept anymore because of fear that Tristan might return drunk or dying and because there was no comfortable position attainable from the way she was shackled. Just as Cassia began to become restless waiting for the scout, the door to the chamber opened hitting her in the shin.

Tristan stepped into the room and threw the key to Cassia who deftly unlocked her bindings from the floor. Cassia rose as Tristan collapsed on his, too small, cot. She immediately went to her healing bag which had become bigger in her time at the fort. Taking the bag and placing it next to the scout on the bed, she carefully began to remove his armor. She had become quite talented at unfastening the many buckles and fastenings on his armor. Once his armor and coat were off, Cassia took in the sight of his blood drenched tunic.

'What have you done to yourself this time,' Cassia thought as she pulled the fabric up to reveal his torn skin. There was a long gash across the right side of his ribcage, but it wasn't very deep. It wouldn't have even needed stitches if it were not in such an awkward spot. No matter how careful he could be, there was no way he wouldn't continuously open it up if she didn't sew it. Cassia fully removed the scout's tunic and began washing his torso with the water from the basin. Tristan just lay with his faced turned away from her as she gently tended him with the greatest of care. Once she was sure that it as clean, Cassia began to stitch the long cut. Tristan barely flinched as Cassia slowly mended the torn flesh. She was not the most sure with a needle, but her stitches were good and she never asked any questions like the healers would.

When she finished patching up the scout, Cassia retrieved Tristan's dirtied clothes and called a maid for some bath water for him. She then slipped out of his quarters to begin her morning chores. Cassia hurried down the knights' corridor slipping in and out of the other knights' rooms without waking them as she took their laundry. In her three months at the fort, Cassia had become as silent as the scout when attending her duties. The knights had begun to warm up to her and allowed her to slip in and out when she needed to. It was less trouble for all parties involved, and Cassia had not proven her self untrustworthy since she arrived.

Cassia paused a moment in Gawain's room since the fair knight had just woken up and was fumbling with his attire. Cassia was about to slip back out hoping not to be noticed, but Gawain animatedly beckoned her in. "How are you this morning," he asked kindly as Cassia began to collect his wash.

"As good as to be expected," Cassia replied tiredly as she hoisted the bag of clothes over her shoulder. "And how are you this fine morning, sir," She asked as she tossed him a clean tunic and took the filthy one he was about to put on.

Gawain laughed as he donned the cleaner garment. "I am well, but I don't know what I would do if you weren't here to tell me what shirts are safe to wear," he joked lightly as Cassia stood in front of him.

"Neither do I, sir. Perhaps you would be walking around in nothing at all because you manage to put more holes in your clothing that even Tristan does. I don't know what I shall do with you," Cassia said in exasperation.

"You could always take Lancelot's approach and bed me," Gawain replied as he pulled the much smaller brunette into his lap.

"Gawain," Cassia said in mock frustration and she climbed out of his warm embrace. "I would not take Lancelot's approach to anything even if I lived to see one hundred, and you would do good not to take his advice either," Cassia admonished as she lifted her sack again.

"It is alright, Cassia. I don't have time to fool around anyway. I must teach Galahad how real men hunt today. Perhaps another time," Gawain ignored her previous rejection as he rose from the bed and kissed her lightly on the forehead before grabbing his bow and quiver.

"Yes, I must go as well, sir because these clothes do not wash themselves," Cassia said as she followed the wild blond knight out of his quarters. Cassia stopped in the kitchens on her way to the stream to say good morning to Vanora and take the twins off the redhead's hands for the morning. Cassia had become close to the two five year olds over her time at the fort because they enjoyed helping her wash. Every morning they would meet her in the tavern and the three of them would go down to the stream to wash the knights' clothes.

Cassia no longer feared the Roman soldiers who roamed the fort because with Tristan's blood thirsty nature back, no one wanted to cross paths with him. They basically left her alone because they feared the scout's rising bloodlust. Some of the men even greeted her as she walked through the streets or sent her pitying glances as the saw her discolored skin. Some even gave her appreciative looks when she wasn't black and blue. Due to her time at the fort, Cassia had gained back almost all of the weight she had lost during her "adventure." She was no longer thin as a board, but instead had her healthy roman figure back. She no longer wore the tight dresses that Vanora had made her because they revealed too much of Tristan's destruction. She instead had begged the fort's seamstress to make her several roman style gowns that she now wore. The dresses hid both her returning curves and constant bruises.

The twins, who were known as Four and Five though no one really paid attention to which one was which, met Cassia outside the tavern which happened to be closed this morning. "Mum is sick again," Four said as Cassia looked at the young girls questioningly. Cassia nodded in understanding as she remembered that Vanora was pregnant yet again.

"Well then, I guess it is just us this morning," Cassia said cheerily as she took, Five's hand and led the way to the stream.

Tristan leaned over the basin in his chamber as he emptied the minimal contents of his stomach. He was still dripping wet from the bath water he had very quickly vacated when the nausea had become over whelming. Tristan's wet hair stuck to his face as he wretched yet again. He glanced at the graze on his arm and noticed the sickly color to it. The Woads had taken to poisoning their arrows because it was the only way to slow him down these days. They never used their deadly poisons but instead used mild ones that simply left him sick to his stomach and weak for several days. It was annoying, but it was better than being dead. Tristan knew that eventually they would use a lethal poison and it would be the end of him, but for now he was not about to let such things stop him.

When he had finally brought up everything that he could, Tristan slowly dressed himself completely forgetting about finishing his bath. He put on his coat to ward off the slight autumn chill that would undoubtedly do him no good with poison in his veins. Slowly he made his way toward the stream to find Cassia. After several times of being hit by poisoned arrows, Cassia had found a certain brew that would alleviate at least most of his symptoms.

Cassia saw Tristan walking toward the stream looking worse for wear with his wet hair unbraided and sticking to his face. He still walked with a slight limp when he was tried or sick and his body language was telling her that he was suffering both. Cassia quickly stood before he reached them and went to him without a word.

"Where were you hit, I didn't see any arrow wounds or I would have given you something for it immediately," Cassia said as she reached the scout.

"Just get me some of that drink. I have to meet with Arthur before noon," Tristan ground out as he took in the sight of Four and Five going through the knights' clothes by the water's edge. "Do you really think that five year olds should be going through our garments? There are things worse than blood on some of those things," Tristan growled.

Cassia held back a laugh knowing that though Tristan didn't sound angry, he was far from pleased. Cassia just said, "They are Bors' children. I doubt that there is any substance that they do not know the origins of… Come let us get this taken care of before Arthur misses you." With that said, Cassia followed Tristan back to his quarters leaving the young girls for a time to wash the clothes. She would be back before they even realized she was missing

As they walked Tristan couldn't get the image of Four and Five at the river out of his mind. Rosheen would be nearly five by now, and she would have the deep red hair of her mother. He could see her sitting at the river with Isolde cleaning his filthy tunics. He could see her bright smile that would resemble her mother's so much while still being uniquely her own. He could feel her small hand in his own as they walked together, and it made his heart bleed not to know what happened to her. Was she beside her mother in the cold earth or was she being raised by someone who couldn't love her nearly as much as he would have? Tristan cursed to himself and blamed it on the poison racing through his veins as he cleared his mind and led Cassia back to his quarters.

XxX

There you have it, I hope you enjoyed. I might be able to get another chapter up before my computer gets taken away. After that I might be able to update once in a while, if my brother gets his own computer working again. So I'm hoping he'll figure out what is wrong with it and fix it, so I can update.

So what, did you think of everyone's memories and how things have happened over the three month skip? Your reviews always help!

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the last few chapters, I'm sorry I haven't replied to any but everything is hectic here. Your input is always greatly appreciated.


	26. A Cell of One's Own

**Disclaimer: Same as always, I own nothing.**

AN: I'm back after a terrible two week absence. I think I was more upset by it than anyone reading this story, but now I am back and will be updating regularly once again!

Chapter 26 Cell of One's Own

Tristan sought Cassia out at the market after his meeting with Arthur. Cassia was buying the scout a new supply of apples as she did once every couple of days. She was looking rather well on this day. Tristan's ability to spend his bloodlust on Woads and not her was doing wonders for her entire being. She could actually stand up straight to her full five feet five inches as she looked for the best pieces of fruit from her favorite vendor. The blotches of blue and black on her olive skin were fading to a sickly green, but it signified healing if nothing else to Cassia. Tristan marched up to her through a noticeable parting of villagers. No one wanted to be close to the scout these days. He was becoming more unpredictable than normal, and it was unnerving to everyone. So the villagers parted to give him free access to the small, honey haired, Roman.

Cassia barely even noticed when Tristan grasped her arm and spun her to look him in the face. Cassia bowed politely to him when she realized who it was and said, "Good afternoon, Sir. What can I do for you?" Tristan just threw a coin at the merchant who simply nodded his acceptance, and dragged Cassia out of the market without a single word. He dragged the loyal slave to his quarters and threw her against a hard wall in irritation that showed itself only to her.

"I must go scouting for Arthur. You are not to leave this room until I return. One of the maids will bring you your meals until I return. Do you understand me," he asked threateningly. "I do not think it is necessary to chain you up, but I will if you give me reason to." Tristan's voice was as low and ominous as it always was as his dark braids obscured his penetrating eyes. He betrayed little emotion even now. Cassia simply nodded as she sat up from where she had fallen.

"Who shall do the wash," she asked innocently as he removed his weapons from their case with a reverence that she still envied. Tristan let his fingers scamper down the blade of his saber in a loving dance. Each weapon was touched as gently as he would a lover and probably cherished more than any lover he had had. Cassia missed the tender scout that she had glimpsed in the first few days of her enslavement. That was the master she was loyal to, not the beast he had become.

Tristan glared at the Roman through his fringe as he removed the chains from his chest as well. Without another word he threw the links at her and she chained herself to the loop in the floor, knowing that she had asked the wrong question. "I will be gone several days. Perhaps in that time you will learn when to keep you mouth shut, or maybe I will teach you to keep it shut when I return," the scout spat as he shouldered his packs and left the room, locking it as he went.

Cassia just sat staring quietly at the door for several moments trying to recall the kind man that had promised that no harm would come to her so long as she was his servant. She remembered the kind looks he would give her as she sat beside the stream scrubbing the stains out of his threadbare tunics. Perhaps he would return the man she had become loyal to, or maybe she would have to continue to show him nothing but kindness, in hopes that he might remember that he too had a soul once. Cassia shook herself from her musings as she stretched out along the dark wall and went in search of sleep. Sleep, like the scout's kindness, had eluded her since Percival's death. She could only hope that today it might allow her even a restless moment of unconsciousness.

The knights sat in the tavern since there was little else to do as the torrential rains pounded the already soggy earth. Two days it had done nothing but rain and the entire fort was feeling anxious. Gawain and Galahad stood before a broken stool, endlessly throwing dull knives at the wooden circle. Considering the number of times they had thrown the small daggers, their aim wasn't any better than when they started. Bors and Dagonet sat with several of Bors' younger children, nursing their ale as the afternoon faded into an evening that brought little change in the weather. Lancelot and Kay sat with a wench a piece, seated in their laps, as they gambled with a few of the more friendly Romans of the fort. Vanora could barely keep up with all of the requests for ale since she was the only barmaid attending her duties instead of a knight.

Gawain and Galahad called the exhausted redhead over for more ale, and Vanora begrudgingly complied. "Van, where has Cassia been these past three days? I have not had the pleasure of her company in too long. Not to mention, I am running out of clean tunics," Gawain laughed as Vanora filled his empty mug with a scowl.

"I do not know, Gawain. I haven't seen her since before the rains began. Perhaps she is staying in the scout's quarters and out of the rain, like a smart individual," Vanora answered lowly, a bit worried for the Roman slave as well. "Perhaps I shall find her and enlist her help with this crowd of fools," Vanora finished her task before returning to the cluttered bar. Empty mugs scattered its wooden surface, while the former contents of some of those mugs seeped into the cracked wood.

Three days Cassia had been seated on the cold floor waiting for the scout's return. The maid had brought her only one meal in that time, and had ceased coming after the first day. Cassia could hear the rains beating down on the soft earth as she lulled between sleep and consciousness. Cassia had faced worse hunger many times on her journey, and she had bore worse circumstances. She, however, had never had the added burden of worrying for another. Now, she found herself worrying more and more for the scout's safety with each passing hour. She did not know how long he was expected to be gone, and the anticipation of him returning injured or not returning at all was eating away at her.

Cassia had counted the grains in the gnarl wood of the walls so many times that her eyes were now continuously sore. She had worked her wrists raw with worrying her shackles, and she could move little more than enough to relieve herself in the chamber pot several feet away. Cassia was exhausted from her captivity and sent prayers toward the cracked ceiling constantly, hoping for the scout's return.

Cassia barely noticed the creaking of the door as it slowly shifted open just missing her, as a soft figure stepped into the darkened room. "Cassia, are you in here lass," came Vanora's sweet voice from the darkness of the doorway. Cassia didn't answer, afraid that Vanora would see what Tristan did and confront the scout about it upon his return. A candle was lit on the small table beside the door, as Vanora looked about the room.

She would have missed the small pile of discolored fabric that was Cassia, had she not heard the slight rustle of chains coming from behind the door. Vanora nearly screamed when she saw the kind Roman woman sitting huddled and chained to the wall. "That cold hearted Sarmatian bastard," Vanora shrieked as she immediately enfolded Cassia in her arms. "It's alright, lass. I'll get you out of here," Vanora said as she went in search of a key to Cassia's bindings.

"You won't find one, Vanora," Cassia's voice was small and raspy from lack of use. "He keeps it with him at all times along with the key to the chest over there." Cassia didn't even need Vanora to tell her what she was looking for in the meager lighting of the room, it was obvious to Cassia.

Vanora looked appalled as she realized that Tristan must have done this before, for Cassia to talk this way. "You mean that you are to tell me that he has chained you up before, and you have never uttered so much as a complaint as to his treatment," Vanora screamed. "That bloody son of a whore. I swear that I shall gut him myself when he returns," Vanora was seething as Gawain came running into the room holding his axe at the ready.

"What's wrong Van," Gawain growled as he realized that they weren't being attacked. His chest was bare as well as his feet, and his hair was in shambles. It was obvious that he had been courting a wench before he heard the commotion, but he had not been too occupied to come at the first sign of trouble. His eyes were blazing from both too much liquor and the prospect of a fight.

"Look at what that arse of a scout is doing to her," Vanora wailed as she pointed to a retreating Cassia. Gawain paled considerably as he saw the chains connecting Cassia to the floor. He had become used to the shackles that adorned her wrists because they were simply a symbol of her slavery, but to chain her up for days was just despicable in the fair knight's eyes.

"Is this why we haven't seen her since he left," Gawain asked as he took his axe to the links without another thought. The weaker metal broke with the force of Gawain's swing, leaving Cassia free of the floor. The Roman woman made no move to rise even once she was free. Instead she tried to reason with them.

"Just leave me here. Tristan could be back at any time, and if he finds me out of the room or free of these chains he'll be angry," Cassia said meekly from her place on the floor.

"Who cares what the scout thinks. You are not an animal to be tied up when he doesn't feel like watching you," Gawain argued.

"I care what he thinks. I care if he is angry. I am the one who faces his wrath if I do not obey his orders, not you Vanora, and certainly not you Gawain. I am his slave and if that means being locked up here while he is away, I shall do it. I chose to steal that damned sword and I shall bear its consequences. So please, leave me here," Cassia pleaded.

"Cassia, you look as though you haven't eaten in days. Forget about Tristan and think of yourself. You could be wasted away before that stubborn fool returns," Vanora pressed.

After several long minutes of arguing, Cassia acquiesced. "I will come with you on one condition," Cassia finally said. "You are not to utter a word of this to the others and Tristan shall not know that I was out of his chambers."

"That is impossible. What, do you want us to lock you back up after supper? It is out of the question. If the scout doesn't like it, them he can try explaining it to Arthur," Vanora spat.

"No, I do not wish to make a fuss. Just promise me that you will speak to no one about this," Cassia pleaded as Gawain aided her to her feet. Both Gawain and Vanora reluctantly promised as they hurried the Roman woman to the tavern.

"There is the woman I shall bed tonight," shouted Lancelot as the three entered the tavern. Cassia found herself being lifted by the womanizing knight before she could even take three steps through the door. "Where have you been, lass? My bed is cold without you," Lancelot joked as he spun her toward the knights' table. The entire tavern was still crowded even at the late hour. Vanora groaned as she realized there were hours of work ahead of her, and Gawain seemed to forget about the whore that was probably still waiting for him. Gawain simply followed Lancelot as he carried Cassia's lithe frame to the knight's table.

"Then your bed shall remain cold, I fear, because I shall not be the one to warm it," Cassia laughed as the other knights welcomed her to sit. Over the past three months they had become close to the honey haired slave that snuck in and out of their rooms carrying bushels of laundry. Cassia, however, stopped the gaiety before she could not escape. "Forgive me men, but I am here solely to aid Vanora because no one else will," Cassia said as she rose from the table. Each of the men looked sufficiently down trodden at her departure, but would probably forget it after several more beers.

"Perhaps afterwards, you shall join us for a drink," Kay asked kindly as she stepped around the rambunctious knights. Cassia simply nodded and kissed his forehead lightly as she moved off to help Vanora serve the unruly crowd. Men constantly grabbed and pulled at her, but as soon as they saw her shackles, they let her go faster than she could often catch her balance. Several hours of shoving off hands and gropes, and Cassia found herself thoroughly exhausted.

The tavern was nearly empty by the time she had a chance to sit down with the knights. She took a seat that was only partially covered in ale and sat between Kay and Dagonet. Cassia was absolutely exhausted from serving all night. Vanora curled up in Bors' lap with no energy to clean up the mess. Bors held his three month pregnant wife close as she lightly dozed in his arms. Cassia lay with her head in Dagonet's lap and her legs across Kay's lap. Both knights absentmindedly stroked her back gently as she too began to doze. Everyone quieted as the two women found sleep in the arms of or laps of loved ones. When the knights realized that the tavern was not going to be cleaned this night unless one of them did it, they threw dice to see who would do it. Lancelot, in his infinite bad luck, lost and was left with the duty of cleaning the messy tavern. He mumbled and groaned as he lifted the empty mugs to be cleaned, but he did it because he knew the work both did for them daily.

Dagonet was about to lift Cassia and carry her to the scout's quarters, but Gawain beat him to it. "Don't worry Dag, I've got her. Told her I'd make sure she got in alright anyway," Gawain lied as he lifted the Roman woman out of both Dag and Kay's laps. The blond knight carried her with the greatest of care to Tristan's quarters where he placed her gently under the covers before kissing her brow and leaving her to her dreams.

XxX

Well, I'm back. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. As always thank you to my wonderful reviewers, you keep me writing! In my long absence I actually wrote out the rest of the story, so I should be quicker in my updates from here out.

Tell me what you thought of Vanora and Gawain. It's hard jumping right back into it after three weeks of just scrawling on paper, so tell me what you think. It's always a great help.


	27. Scenes from a Crumbling Life

**Disclaimer: What a surprise…I still don't own any of this.**

WARNING: This chapter contains adult content, though it is not explicit. If you are not mature enough to read such things or you just don't like to, please don't flame me because I gave you fair warning… now that that's finished, I hope you enjoy this!

Chapter 27 Scenes from a Crumbling Life

It had been the first time in three months that Cassia had had a decent night's sleep. When she woke covered in the sheets of Tristan's cot, she remembered the previous evening's events. Her stomach was still full from the delicious meal Vanora and literally forced her to ingest before helping at the tavern. Rolling over in order to disentangle herself from the covers, Cassia just basked in the silence of the beautiful morning. That was when she heard the shouts in the courtyard. As she looked out the east window, Cassia saw that it was actually well past midday, and that Vanora was yelling at none other than Tristan. No sooner did she make this discovery than Tristan looked up, from where he stood to see her in the window. Cassia paled considerably before she sprinted down the corridor of the knights' barracks and out into the courtyard. She was in the previous night's dress, which was in reality four days ago's dress, and little else with her long curled locks trailing behind her. She could see Vanora's fiery hair and even deadlier temper displayed for the entire courtyard, as she rounded the corner. Tristan looked worn out from riding in three days of rain, and Cassia knew, simply based on a glance, that he was in a foul mood.

"Vanora, please," she pleaded as she came to a halt in front of the pair.

Vanora didn't even pause in her rant to the stoic scout. "What were you thinking? She is not an animal. You cannot just tie her up or beat her when she doesn't do something right... I go up there to see why she hasn't been out in a couple of days and I find her laying there in a heap on the floor. She looks half starved and her wrists are so raw, it's a miracle that she can actually use them. I know your brothers will say nothing about this because they always look the other way at each others' misdeeds, but Tristan you've gone too far. I tried to see beyond that cold exterior that you put up, but I'm beginning to think that that's all that exists anymore. She does nothing but give everything she has for you, and you chain her up like a rabid wolf… I pity any woman who would care for you or even bed you," Vanora growled at the knight with barely a breath in between.

"Vanora, please stop. This is not your fight. Just leave us be," Cassia pleaded uselessly.

"You're a monster Tristan, a cold hearted bastard, and I am sorry that I ever befriended you. You deserve no friends if this is how you treat those that care for you," Vanora continued without even noticing Cassia's protests. The redhead spat at the scout feet then turned and stalked toward the tavern. "And if I find that this happens again, Tristan," she called over her shoulder, "I'll see to it that Arthur deals with it."

Cassia nearly had tears in her once bright eyes as Vanora stalked off. Turning to the scout without making eye contact she said, "I begged her not to say a thing, but you know Vanora. I told her to leave me, but she wouldn't listen," Cassia paused trying to compose herself, "You've been out over three days, can I draw you a bath?" The scout grunted, but said nothing as he trudged toward his room. Cassia followed silently to see if he had any wounds that needed tending. He walked slowly and with a stiff gait, but Cassia simply figured it was from riding for several days straight.

As they entered the room that still housed both of them, Tristan began to remove his mud laden armor and clothing. He placed his sword, daggers, and bow on the cot before he did anything else. Cassia quickly retrieved his cleaning materials as he stripped to the waste before sitting on his cot. "When did she come to find you," Tristan asked darkly as he unsheathed his sword. The blade was cleaner than Tristan's face which had dried mud streaked across it, but he tenderly cleaned the sword anyway.

"Just last evening," Cassia said meekly as she readied a bath for the taciturn scout. Tristan knew it was only a matter of time before someone found her chained up. He knew that it wasn't necessary to do so to her, but some part of him was afraid that she would leave if he didn't keep her locked up. He wasn't willing to admit it, but he needed her even if he beat and cursed her. She was a part of his life as much as anything else in the fort, at this point.

His need of her only angered him further, and Tristan found himself being less than his usually careful self as he cleaned his curved blade. His normally deft hands slipped several times leaving him with bloody fingers and more to clean off his sword. Cassia noticed his bleeding digits as she looked up from the steaming bath water, that sat at the end of the cot. She had another cauldron of water heating over the fire in the hearth if he needed it, as well.

Cassia slowly stood up from the basin and snatched a cloth off the small table before sitting beside the scout. "Here," she said as she handed him the cloth to clean his fingers with. Tristan took the cloth without a word and wrapped his bleeding fingers. He continued his cleaning, as Cassia quickly checked the stitches across his abdomen and the graze on his arm. "Those stitches can come out tomorrow if you'd like. The cut is healing nicely, and I don't think we need to worry about infection anymore, but you'll still have to be careful with it. After all, it is in an awkward spot," Cassia said as she rose from the cot happy that there were no new wounds to add to the multitude of scars upon the knight's body.

Tristan finished his cleaning rather quickly, and then stripped the rest of the way not caring if Cassia watched. He padded over to the steaming bath water and sank into the soothing liquid. He sat with his eyes closed for several minutes before he slowly began to clean the mud from his body. He had not had the chance to even wash his face in four days, and the hard rains had left him stewing in quite a bit of mud the entire ride. It seemed to the scout that every time he sunk into warm bath water he aged a great deal. It seemed that every time he let the water wash over him more muscles ached and more pains shot up and down his body. Tristan knew he had several years before old age should have set in, but more and more often he felt like an old man at only twenty-five winters old. He was beginning to understand why Cassia looked well beyond her own twenty-nine winters. If he reached her age he would be out of service and free of Rome's grasp. She had only begun her own enslavement, which would last as long as he did.

Tristan shook himself from his musings and thought about Vanora's words as he had entered the fort. He had always valued Vanora's opinion, but he was unwilling to listen to her wisdom on this occasion. He knew that he had better heed her warning about chaining Cassia up because he knew that she would have no problems going straight to Arthur about the situation. He also knew that Arthur would have him flogged for such treatment, even if it was perfectly acceptable to do so to one's slaves in Rome. No, Tristan would not chain the wench up anymore, but this wouldn't stop him from showing his power over her.

Then Vanora's words about pitying any woman who ever loved him came to mind. Tristan found himself nearly scrubbing the skin right off his arm as he thought on her words. Images of Isolde played in his vision and he wished to dig out his own eyes to be rid of her. He still loved her even over four years after her death. His heart bled with every thought of her. With every image that played through his mind, Tristan felt the need to purge her from his system. He had been taking more whores than he ever had, in the past three months. This was because thoughts of Isolde had done nothing but plague him ever since he had taken a whip to Cassia's soft flesh. His beloved had done nothing but haunt him as he spiraled further and further down.

Tristan threw the cloth out of the tub as he tried to rid himself of his own conscience. Cassia silently took up the discarded cloth and stepped behind the scout. She gently pushed him away from the wall of the basin, and he moved without protest. Cassia gently wet the cloth and brought it to the scout's marred back and tenderly washed the scarred flesh. Tristan didn't try to stop Cassia's tender ministrations because they almost lulled him out of his dark mood. Cassia could feel Tristan relaxing ever so slightly with her care, but she also knew that he could very easily slip back into fury. She finished cleaning the scout's toned back and retrieved the water off the hearth. She tested the water with her finger then carefully poured it over his mud encrusted hair. Tristan tipped his head back to keep mud out of his eyes, and for a brief moment, Cassia gazed upon Tristan's features without the mask of hair or dirt in the way. She remembered the innocence she had seen there, when she had first tended him in the forest. She no longer saw anything, but the misdeeds he was so prone to commit. She stopped pouring the hot water and found herself staring into the cold brown eyes of the scout.

"You can go," was all Tristan said as he lay back against the side of the tub. Cassia nodded and went to the door before Tristan called over his shoulder, "I expect you to return before sundown." Cassia said nothing but left with her tattered cloak in hand to take care of her many chores, before the sun set. She was shocked that Tristan had not struck her or even berated her for Vanora's words. She should have been happy, but she couldn't help but think that Tristan would have his revenge in a different way.

Tristan made his way from Arthur's chambers toward the tavern. Tristan just growled at what Arthur had informed him about. Another mission was forthcoming, but Tristan did not look forward to this journey. The revelation only succeeded in driving the scout further into his melancholia. His past was bearing down on him, and he needed to escape, if only for a moment.

Tristan was still exhausted from his mission, but he needed something to eat before he could rest. He also needed to purge himself of Isolde and everything else on his mind, which would probably result in him hiring a wench for the evening. Tristan sat down in his regular seat, at the dark end of the knights' table. All the others were there, and he could feel Gawain's penetrating gaze before he even looked up. Of all the knights, Gawain and Dagonet were the closest to Cassia. It used to bother the scout, but at this point he was just happy that they weren't bedding her. He knew that Gawain still liked the pretty village girl he used to follow around at night, to make sure she got home safely, but he didn't doubt that Gawain would drop those affections immediately if the Roman would give him a chance. Gawain was only twenty-two summers but the fair haired warrior was not afraid of a woman such as Cassia.

Tristan glanced at the blonde knight and noticed the fire in his eyes. Tristan realized that he must have known about the chains simply from the way Gawain gazed at him. Tristan just hoped that the others didn't know as well. Gawain's glares didn't diminish as Tristan gave the younger man a frosty look of his own, and Tristan realized just how passionate about this Gawain was. Tristan knew that Gawain was hardened to a knight's way of life, so it spoke volumes if the ferocious knight was upset about how one was treated.

Without warning, the blonde knight rose from his seat beside a very drunk Galahad. He growled something unintelligible then moved to the bar where Vanora stood filling mugs for the wenches to hand out. "I cannot sit there with him, and refrain from doing something that might get me killed," Gawain growled to Vanora as she paused to listen to him. "I don't have the self-control that Tristan does. I'll be launching myself across that table before I know what's good for me, and I doubt Arthur will be please if two of his men kill each other."

"Don't bother with him, Gawain. There's no good in getting yourself flogged over the likes of him," Vanora said as she placed a mug of mead in front of the infuriated knight. "We all get what's coming to us one day, and he's no different."

Vanora refused to serve the scout and instead sent one of her more experienced serving girls to take his order. Little did she know, this only fueled his purposes further. Rena walked to the knights' table with a tray balanced on her rounded hip, as she served the knight that Vanora couldn't even look at this evening. Rena wasn't exactly sure what was going on because Vanora was usually the only woman that the scout would actually speak to. She just figured that Vanora had finally come to her senses and realized that the scout was far beyond insane.

Tristan watched as Rena, the only redheaded barmaid other than Vanora, set his mug before him. She was a tall woman and very well proportioned, with hips that were well rounded and a chest that caught many an eye. He could feel his mind wandering in all sorts of directions, but all his thoughts came back to one: Isolde. Tristan could feel his body tensing up again at the thought of his beloved, and he felt the urge to simply go up to Rena, drag her out of the tavern by her hair, and have his way with her. However, Tristan practiced some of his legendary patience and waited out the urge. He listened to his brothers laugh and joke long into the night, but as several of them began to wander back to their rooms with wenches in tow Tristan could wait no longer. His mind had been a drift for far too long.

Rena was headed back to the knights' table to clear away the last round of mugs when Tristan appeared beside her, holding out a dull coin. "What's this for," she asked in confusion never having been propositioned by the scout before. Most men used words or gifts to persuade her into their company, but Tristan simply got to the point. He didn't have illusions as to how to get her attention.

"For coming with me," Tristan said in a low growl as he took her by the waist and led her out of the tavern, forgetting her duties. Tristan knew that Rena was not one to be frequently used by the inhabitants of the fort. It was not that she was un-pretty or even a bad go, but she had a dignity about her that the other whores didn't. Rena was her own woman no matter what the men did to her, and that frightened many of the patrons of the tavern. However, Rena followed the scout with little complaint because she was not one to turn down an offered coin. If one pretended they were too good for business, then they would starve.

When Rena moved in the direction of her own hut, Tristan stopped her and ushered her toward the barracks. Rena raised an eyebrow but followed without a word against it. Only Lancelot and Gawain were known to bring wenches back to their own rooms because most of the men didn't wish the scent of the whores to linger in their own quarters. Tristan, however, led Rena into his room without a second thought. Rena immediately turned around and began disrobing the silent knight. She paid no attention to her surroundings until her heard movement near the window. Rena turned from the half naked man in front of her to the window where a very embarrassed looking Cassia stood preparing to leave.

"Where are you going," came Tristan's gravelly voice.

"But… I-I do not wish to intrude," Cassia fumbled as she tried to leave.

"It is after dark," Tristan stated as he tugged at Rena's red hair.

"I could just stay with Dag until you're finished," she offered meekly, trying to avoid watching the couple.

"He's occupied," Tristan grunted at Rena's wandering caresses.

The wench turned and looked the scout in the eye before saying, "I'm here to please not perform. Let the woman go, there's nothing to see here."

"She stays," was all that Tristan said before he pushed her toward the bed.

"This will cost extra," Rena said as she continued to strip the knight above her. Tristan just grunted his consent before he put out the lone candle beside his bed. Now the room was solely lit by the warm glow of the moon.

Cassia was disgusted by the scout's actions and found her self turning away from the cot that bedded her master, and his entertainment for the evening. Cassia simply opened the small window and gazed out into the darkness. She found it easy to ignore the moans and grunts coming from the bed so long as she focused on the gleaming stars in the dark sky. Tristan's hawk even flew down and perched herself on the bar across the window. The bird of prey balanced herself beside Cassia as she ingested a small mouse from an earlier hunt. Cassia gently stroked the hawk's chest as she tried to concentrate on anything other than her awkward predicament.

Cassia knew that the scout was capable of many cruel things, but she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out whom this little punishment was hurting more. She could not imagine that it was pleasant to be watched while committing such an act, and she knew it was anything but enjoyable to have to witness two parties commit it. Cassia let her thoughts wander back to her previous life while Tristan released some of his pent up lust on the bed. Cassia could barely recall even the contours of Marcus' face anymore. She barely remembered how he would tell her how much he loved her every time she even entered the same room as him. She couldn't even remember the weight of her emerald bracelet upon her wrist, and that ornament sat only feet away from her, over Tristan's bed.

Cassia was torn from her troubled musings when she heard a mumble come from the scout. In her three months at the fort, Cassia had become accustomed to just about every tone of voice that Tristan possessed. Right now he was mumbling as he did in his sleep, reverently but feverishly. At first Cassia couldn't make out what he kept repeating, or perhaps she just didn't want to. However, his voice began to rise ever so slightly and Cassia found herself turning from the view outside to the one within the room. She could see that Tristan had his eyes closed as a mumbled name spilled from his lips.

Isolde. The woman's name was repeated over and over by the scout. Cassia decided that the scout was not there at the moment, but somewhere far away with this Isolde. She found herself pitying him more than herself because he obviously wanted to be in this room less than even she did. He wanted to be with this woman, Cassia had never heard of, in a place all their own.

Cassia turned away again as the scout shouted her name one last time. The hawk flew away as it heard her companion yell and disappeared into the night sky. Cassia leaned her head against the window wishing for a sleep that would never come. She heard the rustle of sheets as Rena rose from beneath the exhausted scout.

"My coin, Tristan," Rena said without any hint of respect. She probably wasn't very pleased to be called by another woman's name, after he had forced her to basically perform for an audience. Cassia heard Tristan mumble something unintelligible then she heard a slap as Rena became quite angry with him. Very few women had the courage to put the scout in his place, most of then just so happened to be redheads. "One silly piece of bronze isn't worth the trouble you put me through. I could have made that much at the tavern tonight without selling me self to you. Then having her in here, and you calling me some silly names to top it off, I expect my fair payment," Rena fumed.

Tristan just turned away from her on his cot as to put an end to the conversation. Rena was about to hit the scout again when Cassia stepped off the window ledge. "How much is owed," she asked quietly to the infuriated whore.

"At least a silver or two," Rena said as Cassia approached her. Cassia lifted three silver pieces out of her small pouch and placed it in the wench's hand.

"For your trouble," she said meekly as she gave away her last three coins.

Rena nodded her thanks to the Roman slave then gave her a look of sympathy as she collected the rest of her garments. "I pity you, love, having to put up with a beast like that. I would have taken my own life long ago, if I had been you. You're a much stronger lass than I," Rena said as she slipped from the room leaving only Cassia and the scout. Cassia looked to the bed where Tristan lay sprawled over the covers. He looked to be asleep, so Cassia leaned over the cot and pulled the covers over the scout's sweaty body. Autumn was setting in and there was no reason for him to catch a cold simply because he was too stubborn to cover himself. Cassia kindled the hearth and went back to sit on the windowsill once more, hoping that sleep would find her and wondering who Isolde was.

Tristan lay very still on the bed and controlled his breathing as Cassia paid Rena. He felt sick as soon as he had finished with the wench. His senses had come back to him, and he realized that he had just forced Cassia to watch him couple with a common whore. He had promised to protect her as long as she was in his service, and he constantly exposed her to things far worse than what the Romans would have done to her. He felt nauseated, but he held it down not being able to let her know that he was awake. He couldn't face her, and he would only feel more ill if he emptied the contents of his stomach and she came to help him.

Silent tears ran down his cheeks as he thought of what Isolde would think of him now. She probably would have spat on him and left him before he knew what was happening. Vanora was right, he was a beast and he deserved none of what he had. He could feel his frozen heart twisting and dying a little more as he thought of all the wrongs he had done because of his own self pity. He had once been a strong and great knight, now he was as weak and selfish as he had been when he first arrived at the wall. Tristan knew it would be nigh impossible, but he vowed he would be as he had been before Dinadan's death once again. He would start by apologizing to Cassia upon the sun's ascent.

XxX

Thank you to my lovely reviewers, you inspire me more an more. I hope you don't hate me after this chapter. This was actually the last chapter I wrote before I went away, but I didn't want to leave you with this because I thought you all might hunt me down and hurt me if I left you at that for three weeks. I promise the next chapter will be up tomorrow or the next day, though.

So please tell me what you thought of this chapter. Your thoughts always help me through.

And for Meghan and anyone else wondering, this takes place between four and five years before the film.


	28. Why One Endures

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that has to do with King Arthur.**

Chapter 28 Why One Endures

For the first time during Cassia's enslavement, she woke before the scout. The sun was rising out the eastern window and the warm morning glow caressed her fallen eyelids till she reached consciousness. Cassia slowly stretched in her uncomfortable position, squeezed into the windowsill. The hawk had returned with her morning catch and perched beside Cassia tearing apart yet another dead mouse. Cassia cringed, a bit, as she noticed remains of entrails sitting on the ledge beside her. She simply shook her head and turned from the window to look around the softly lit room. The sun's early rays cast a warm glow about the quarters, including the small earth colored cot where Tristan still lay tangled in the sheets she had covered him in the night before. Cassia shook her head as she moved around the cot to find Tristan's discarded garments.

Cassia picked up the tunic with a sigh as she noticed yet another tear in the, already mended one to many times, fabric. She just folded the breeches and placed them in the chest, before sitting down to mend the ruined shirt. She carefully removed a length of thread and threaded the needle. Cassia was still not the best mender of fabric, but she could take care of the easy rips such as these. Skin was fast become Cassia's "fabric" of choice. She didn't particularly like having to stitch up Tristan every time he returned to the fort, but with experience comes precision and Cassia was becoming rather precise at such tasks. Cassia was so wrapped in her sewing that she barely noticed Tristan begin to toss and turn on the bed.

Cassia was still as close to furious with the knight as she could get because of the night before. He hadn't apologized, though she doubted he ever would, and he had gone to sleep so fast as to leave her to pay for his wench. Cassia began to fume as she stabbed the needle through the garments. 'What was he trying to prove anyway,' she thought to herself as she became less and less aware of the world around her and more lost in her own thoughts. 'Was he trying to show me what I am missing out on because he certainly has not been offering? And not to mention, I don't exactly call waiting in line to be called by another woman's name a fun time,' Cassia continued to contemplate. 'Crude, selfish, unfeeling bastard,' Cassia yelling in her mind as she shoved the needle through the fabric quite viciously, stabbing her thumb in the process. Cassia cursed quite violently for a dignified Roman woman, but then she wasn't very dignified anymore, especially after last night. Cassia put down the, now bloodstained, tunic and nursed her thumb as she looked over to the bed where she finally noticed Tristan tossing and turning in the covers.

_Lush red hair fanned out over the soft earth as Tristan rolled on top of Isolde gently kissing her as he held her close in the tall grass. The pair had been riding through the forest near the fort when Isolde had decided to race her silent companion. Tristan had followed close at her horse's hoofs all through the forest, until he sensed that they were no longer alone. As Isolde rode gaily in front of the scout, Tristan began to notice blue mixed into the surrounding foliage. Before he could find the words to warn his betrothed of the danger, the Woads were already pouring from the dense forest. Tristan kicked his horse into a swift gallop so that he could lead Isolde to safety._

_Isolde's eyes never left his own as they made their way through the forest and into a field of tall grass. After riding for a while, Tristan dismounted. Before he knew it, he had a beaming redhead tackling him to the ground. They roll about for several moments before Tristan rolled atop Isolde, panting hard._

"_You shall be the death of me," he joked lightly as he pushed a stray lock of fiery hair out of her delicate face. Isolde smiled happily as Tristan stole a gentle kiss. As he pulled back resting his forehead against her own, he asked, "Were you not afraid, milady?"_

_Isolde laughed lightly once again and replied, "Sir, what have I to fear with one such as you by my side?" Tristan joined in her gaiety as he kissed her once again. This time, however, he stole her breath as she had his heart. He was gentle yet passionate, and soon Isolde had her one hand wrapped in his hair as the other went to her waist pocket._

_Tristan felt her hands more than anything else, as the cold metal slipped through his ribs. Isolde's hand was right there guiding the dagger into his soft flesh. Tristan broke the kiss with a gasp as his own hand came up to grasp hers. "Isolde," was the only word that slipped past his lips as he felt his life's blood begin to drain from his body._

_Isolde looked harshly at the scout's confused face. "I have naught to worry for in your company, but you are not so safe in mine," Isolde said as she wrenched her hand from his grasp. As she rose, Tristan saw an army of blue warriors surrounding him. "Did you think I would not see the monster you have become? Did you think I would stand for your vicious acts? You are no better than the Romans that you serve," his redheaded lover spat as two Woads began to drag Tristan away. All of a sudden, the scout felt as though he were drowning._

Cassia watched as Tristan's face contorted in what looked to be a pained expression. His lower body was completely tangled in the covers while his bare upper body twisted and turned as he grasped the sheets tightly. Cassia thought that he might have a fever or have been poisoned, so she approached the bed cautiously. Cassia leaned over the convulsing scout's body and placed the back of her hand upon his brow then ran it through his hair. He was not feverish, however, he was covered in a cold sweat and his hair was sticking to his face. When she looked down she noticed that he must have pulled a few stitches the night before because his abdomen was bleeding slightly from the cut across his ribs. When Cassia reached out and felt the wound to make sure that it was not becoming infected, Tristan's hand shot out of the covers and held her hand in place. His face was once again contorted in pain, and his grip was tentative but strong. Then she heard that single word once again. " Isolde."

Cassia decided that it was time to wake the scout, even if he was in a foul mood because of it. He was obviously dreaming something terrible to do this to him, and even though she was angry with him she was not about to sit by while he went through torture. Cassia raised her other hand gently and pushed it through his sweaty hair as she leaned closer to his ear and whispered, "Tristan… wake up; it's only a dream." She then gently shook him, but he only seemed to become more frantic. Not knowing what else to do, Cassia disengaged herself from his grasp and went to the basin where there was still some water left from the previous day. She lifted the bowl and carried it to the cot where she unceremoniously poured it over the scout's face.

Cassia watched Tristan sputter with a cold sense of satisfaction. Some people deserved to be woken up with a cold bucket of water, and Tristan was definitely one of them. As Tristan reigned his breathing, Cassia threw him a towel from the other side of the room where she had gone back to finish mending his tunic.

Tristan's mind still clung to the remnants of his dream as he wiped his now sopping hair out of his eyes. It had begun as a sweet memory from his past, but it had soon twisted itself into a horrific lie that Tristan did not wish to think of. He had made love to Isolde that day in the endless field of grass and grain. He kept reminding himself that as the nightmare played over and over. He did, however, know that if Isolde had lived to see what he had become, she very well might have turned him over to the Woads. Tristan shook his muddled head then looked at himself, with rivulets of water cascading down his chest and back. As he looked up from his current condition, he saw Cassia sitting quietly as she mended one of his torn tunics. Tristan nearly groaned as pieces of the previous night came back to him. He could not even blame his actions on the imbibing of ale because he barely had more than one mug.

Cassia barely looked up from her work as she heard the rustling of the covers. "You'll need to get that stitched before you put on one of your tunic because I refuse to clean stains that could have easily been prevented," she said tersely as she concentrated on the fabric and needle. She knew that Tristan was probably still in the haze of sleep, but she had no reason to be pleasant to the man that did nothing but humiliate her. Tristan hadn't really noticed that he'd opened his wound until she mentioned it. All of a sudden his dream came back to him, and he grasped the wound thing it was deeper. "You must have had quite a time last night to open a nearly healed wound," she pointed out sardonically. "You'll have to get Dagonet to stitch it because I'm all out of thread."

Tristan looked straight at Cassia, not one to weather criticism from a slave very well, "Why is it that you are sewing then, if you are without thread," he asked bitterly.

"This is the end of it. I hadn't expected you to open that up, or I would have left your tunic in pieces," Cassia's voice was cold yet not disrespectful, as she tried to be difficult with her master. She held up the frayed and torn beige tunic, just to drive her statement home. The tunic was definitely in need of repairs other than the one she was tending to, but there was little hope that Cassia's skill would allow her to re-hem the tearing seams.

"Then why don't you go buy more thread," Tristan asked calmly though he was anything but calm. He could feel his blood pulsating in his temple as he watched his defiant slave.

"I do not even have enough money to buy myself a meal never mind healing supplies… I gave my last three coins away last night," Cassia ground out as she put her needle and thread away. "Now if you would excuse me, I have duties to attend to." Cassia didn't even bother to look at the scout as she gathered her bag of clothes and headed for the door.

Tristan would have let her feel his fist had he not recalled how her last three coins were spent. As she left the room, Tristan could do little more than sit and watch. His covers were still pooled in his lap, and he couldn't exactly spring out of bed to stop her and apologize, or perhaps he wasn't willing to. Once the door was closed, Tristan found his change pouch and took out four silver pieces, then placed them in Cassia's healing bag. He couldn't take back what he had done the night before, and he doubted she would accept his apology even if he did, but he would try to make it up to her.

Tristan then pulled on a worn pair of breeches and his boots as he headed out the door. Dagonet would want to know what happened that he got such an injury and reopened it, and probably why Cassia didn't mend it herself. Tristan mentally groaned as he knocked on his friend's door. Dagonet answered quickly as Tristan waited outside his quarters. As soon as the large knight opened his door, he ushered Tristan in. "What happened, brother," Dag asked with visible concern as he motioned for Tristan to take a seat at the edge of his cot.

"Many things," was Tristan's vague reply as Dag sat in a chair before him with his healing supplies. The large knight inspected Tristan's gash thoroughly before he spoke. The wound was not infected, but the edges had torn the new skin. It was red and probably sore, but Tristan didn't seem to notice.

"Well lie down, so I can stitch this, and you can start from the beginning," Dagonet answered with infinite patience. Tristan lay down on the cot giving Dagonet access to his pulled stitches while ignoring the intense stinging in his ribs. "Why isn't Cassia doing this for you? She came for my wash in a bit of a mood this morning," he prompted casually.

"She's the first thing that went wrong," Tristan had given up his pride by this time, and simply told Dagonet everything that had happened over the past three months. Tristan knew that Dagonet wouldn't get enraged like the others would, so he spoke as freely as a person such as he is able to. Dagonet couldn't hide his disappointment in the scout's actions, but he was cautious to reprimand.

Finally, Tristan came to what had happened the previous night. "I don't know what came over me, but I wasn't in control all night. I ended up taking Rena to bed and forcing Cassia to watch. I realized what I'd done only afterward, and I couldn't face either of them. Then Cassia ended up paying Rena for me," Tristan finished in a dead voice.

Dagonet, who had never been one to confront any of his brothers, in a manner that wasn't calm and patient, punched Tristan so hard that the silent knight's head snapped back. Tristan didn't react other than to cup his hand over his bleeding nose. "That woman has done nothing but care for you in these past months, and what do you do? You chain her up, abuse her, and now you humiliate her in front of a whore," Dagonet said as he tried to rein in his rage at Tristan's stupidity. "I'm sorry. It is just that you are the one that I _don't_ expect this from," Dagonet said as he noticed Tristan's slumped shoulders, as he silently held his aching nose. Dag knew there was more to the story, just by how Tristan didn't react. He was defeated, and that scared Dagonet more than the tale he had just been told. He hadn't seen Tristan look as such since Dinadan's death. Dagonet silently removed Tristan's hand from his nose and staunched the bleeding himself. "What aren't your telling me," the gentle giant had returned.

Tristan sighed and answered. "After I spoke with Vanora and dealt with Cassia, I went to see Arthur," Tristan said with a sigh. "He told me that we have another mission in two days time. It's at Eboracum," Tristan paused.

Dagonet didn't know anything about that fort, so he asked Tristan of its significance. "My first fort," Tristan replied barely audibly. Dag let out a small curse as the memory of Tristan's battered body being carried into the fort, four years earlier, came to mind. Tristan had been so fragile then, that it was hard to believe that the cold killer before him was the same man. The thought of returning to such a place would have been enough to make Arthur's God lose himself. Dagonet simply sat there with the scout, lending his support in the only way Tristan accepted it, through silence.

Cassia had been sitting contentedly by the stream when Vanora approached her. "I am sorry, for going against your wishes and speaking to Tristan," Vanora said meekly.

"There is naught to apologize for. You are my friend, and you were simply looking out for me," Cassia brushed it off with a wave of her hand.

"Still, I hope he didn't punish you because of what I did," Vanora went on.

"You are not responsible for Tristan's actions. They are his own and no one else's, so do not fret. What he does to me shall be his to make amends for in the end and no other's," Cassia said in a far away tone.

"Rena told me what happened," Vanora admitted on the brink of tears, thinking that she was the reason that it happened. "How can you smile after what he puts you through? I cannot even bare the idea that I consider myself his friend, after seeing what he does to you. I knew him when he still knew how to smile, and it kills me to see the monster he has become."

"Oh Vanora, don't say such things. I have seen far worse that two people making love," Vanora let out a disgusted snort at Cassia's choice of words. "I can smile because I know that though Tristan is cruel, and often heartless, he needs me or he would have killed me long ago. I've never been needed before. Before this, I had no purpose other than paying my husband's debts," Cassia confessed with as little emotion as possible.

"How can you not be angry with him," Vanora asked incredulously.

"Oh, I am plenty angry with him. I doubt Tristan will be pleased when he finds that I have not cleaned any of his garments since he left five days ago. I believe he has one clean tunic and breeches left. I can do little else, but it shall be satisfying to see him silently sit around in his own filth," Cassia said with a mischievous glint in her eye. Vanora just laughed at her friend's tactics. "Vanora, I've been meaning to ask you something," Cassia said quickly.

"Anything dear," Vanora replied sweetly as she lifted a dirty tunic to aid Cassia.

"Do you know who Isolde is? I've heard Tristan mumble her name several times now, and I was wondering who she is," Cassia asked, not really wanting to admit exactly how she had last heard the scout say the name.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps she is his mother or sister, possibly a woman he knew before he came here. I know Tristan well, but Dinadan was the only one that he truly confided in. He hasn't really spoken freely to anyone since Dinadan's death, about two years ago," Vanora paused for a moment in thought. "The only person that might know is Arthur because he and Dinadan were in confidence, over the matter," Vanora replied earnestly. "Why do you wish to know, love?"

"I'm just curious," Cassia replied lazily. "Do you think that Arthur would see me? I mean, he's always so busy, and I'm only a…"

"Of course he'll see you. He's not like most of the Romans around here. He'll see you, I'm sure of it," Vanora tried to cut Cassia off before she could call herself a slave. "He'll be in his office now, if you wish to go. I can finish this up for you," Vanora offered as she gestured to the wash. Cassia nodded her thanks and rose in search of the fort's commander.

Arthur had been sitting quietly in his office mulling over several maps when Jols entered. "A Lady Cassia to see you, sir," the squire announced politely. Arthur nodded, and Cassia entered. The office was not large or luxurious in anyway, Cassia noted as she stepped into the room. It was simply a small room inside his chambers that contained a cluttered desk and several shelves filled with books. There was but one window brightening the room, which lay directly behind where Arthur sat. Several maps and scrolls lay across the desk top along with an old chalice of wine and several volumes on the Great City itself. Cassia barely noticed Arthur's frustrated expression as she set about her task.

"I'm surprised that you recognized me with that silly title attached to my name," Cassia joked lightly as she bowed to Arthur. The dark hair commander glanced up from his work as he heard her soft voice.

"I have known you to be naught but a lady, so the title fits," Arthur replied gently as he motioned for her to sit before his desk. "What brings you to my quarters, Lady?"

"Tristan," Cassia stated vaguely. Arthur looked grave at her statement.

"I have been meaning to speak to you about my scout's treatment of you. Is it true that he has raised his hand to you," Arthur asked darkly.

"Perhaps you have spent too many years looking at Woad women, Arthur, but women are not supposed to be shades of blue and black, normally," Cassia said harshly, because she didn't believe that it was necessary to ask such a foolish question. Any man with eyes could see the remnants of Tristan's rage. It seemed that the knights tried not to notice what was right before their eyes, because they refused to see the faults in one another.

"Forgive me; I just prefer not to condemn my men without being sure the accusations are true. I have found that trust and loyalty have been my only allies these past ten years," Arthur apologized, and Cassia nodded in understanding. "But I assure you that Tristan will be punished for this," the green eyed commander promised solemnly.

"That is not why I am here, Arthur. I am not the delicate flower that everyone wishes I were. Perhaps if I was, I would still be in Rome, married to a senator like my sister. Tristan's punishment for his deeds is of little concern to me, and should probably be of less concern to you. But alas, I have come here to enquire as to the bearer of a name," Cassia clarified as she sat forward in the uncomfortable chair.

"You have not come because of his treatment? But, Gawain tells me that you were chained up for days," Arthur asked in disbelief. He was actually so confused that he began to rub his usually bright eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "He treats you terribly, yet you have not come to complain, why?"

"I simply wish to know if you have any knowledge of a woman by the name of Isolde. She would be an acquaintance of Tristan," Cassia stated her business paying little attention to Arthur's question.

"How do you know of Isolde," Arthur asked suspiciously.

"Tristan mumbles her name when he is asleep or not thinking clearly," Cassia explained. "I asked Vanora, but she knows not either."

"All I know of Isolde is that she had a daughter and is since deceased. You will have to ask Tristan of his connection with the two because I know little else, though I doubt Tristan will tell you about her. He is a very private person," Arthur answered as honestly as he was willing to, as Cassia sat quietly.

Cassia thanked Arthur as she rose and left the cluttered office, but she was once again stopped by the commander. "Cassia, why is it that you care so much for him after all that he has done," Arthur asked curiously as he looked up from his paper work. His green eyes pleaded for an answer.

"We all have done things that we are not proud of, Arthur. If every man who made a mistake was unredeemable, then your own God would have no merit," Cassia said vaguely as she closed the door to his office. Arthur just sat there for several minutes thinking about what she had said. He finally returned to his work feeling less hopeless than before; she had eased his mind without even realizing it.

XxX

Sorry, I didn't get this up last night, but I truly despise copying things to my computer that I had originally written on paper. I find it annoying so I kept taking breaks and now it's a day later than I hoped to get it out. Thank you to my wonderful reviewers, though. You guys are what keep me going!

Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you thought. It is always useful and inspiring to hear what you have to say.


	29. Where Two Roads Meet

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, so please don't sue.**

AN: There are a couple words of bad language in the middle of this chapter, so skip them if they offend you, but other than that I hope you enjoy this!

Chapter 29 Where two Roads Meet

Tristan had left Dagonet's room with little to show for it but a sore nose. He refused to return to his own quarters for fear of seeing Cassia, and he refused to ride because his mount had ridden hard for several days straight, and on the morrow would be doing so again. His horse's welfare was far more important than a ride to clear his own head.

Tristan left the barracks as he wandered slowly through the fort. His mind was full of unrest as he passed those he knew with little more than a sideways glance. His feet first led him to the empty tavern. It was still too early for it to be open, but that had never stopped Tristan before. Silently, Tristan strode through the back door that led to the kitchens. He knew that if Vanora caught him now, she would probably attack him with any pot or knife she could find. Normally, Vanora would let the scout take what he wished from the kitchens because she had a soft spot for him, but after she had seen his treatment of Cassia, she was more likely to skewer him than serve him. With precise stealth, Tristan snuck into the pantry and found himself a jug of mead. Though it was not normally his drink of choice, Tristan was far more concerned with forgetting the passed few days than the drink that aided him. Just as unobtrusively as he had come, Tristan slipped out the back door without anyone noticing.

Tristan was lost in his own mind when he arrived at the room that lay directly above his own. The door was locked, but Tristan was the only one that possessed the key. He stood a moment staring at the heavy door, before he realized where he was. Dinadan's room stood before the scout as it had so many times before. The only different was that now good counsel and friendship didn't lay behind it. Tristan absentmindedly removed the key from his person and let himself into the abandoned room.

The room looked no different than it had the day Dinadan left it, for the mission he was never to return from. The cot beneath the far window was sloppily mad because he had been in a hurry that day. The chair and table were still perfectly set because he never left a mess of it. There was a pair of worn breeches atop his clothes chest because they had needed mending, and there were two daggers he had forged himself upon the arms shelf. One was to be Tristan's and the other his own, but after he died Tristan didn't possess the heart to take it from the room.

Tristan entered silently, almost reverently, and shut the door behind him self. No one but he had been in this room since Dinadan's passing. Over the past two years, Tristan had found himself in here seeking the counsel of his deceased friend many times. Tristan slowly walked to the center of the desolate room and sat cross-legged on the floor. Before him lay Dinadan's cot which was highlighted by the glow of the late afternoon sun. Tristan removed the stopper from the clay jug of mead he had procured and took a pull from it before placing it on the floor I front of him. Dinadan and he had drunk in this very spot many times over their two years of service together. It had become a ritual every time one of them was in need of guidance. For several minutes as he drank, Tristan sat remembering the day that tore apart the last remnants of his humanity.

_The knights sat mounted on the crest closest to the fort as they returned from Aesica on a supply run. Dinadan and Tristan came bolting out of the distant forest with a volley of arrows close behind them. Arthur watched as his two scouts twisted in the saddle, in unison, and released several arrows of their own. _

_Tristan had an arrow protruding from the back of his armor, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down at all as they made their way to the hill upon which the other knights sat._

"_There was an ambush waiting for us, but Tristan spotted 'em," Dinadan informed as they reined in before Arthur and the others. _

"_How many," Arthur asked tersely. _

"_Forty… Fifty maximum," Tristan answered as he broke the shaft of the arrow in his back, without so much as a flinch. Galahad paled as he watched, while the others just simply shook their heads. Tristan was too accustomed to pain for his own good. Bors would often joke by saying that the silent scout wouldn't notice if his head was cut off because he felt little pain. Tristan would always simply say that if his head was missing, he wouldn't notice anything because he would be dead. Bors would usually grumble at him for his smart reply._

"_Alright… men," Arthur called as he removed Excalibur from its sheath. The others moved into formation as they too drew their weapons, then charged down to meet the emerging Woads._

_Tristan, Dinadan, and Galahad, who still lacked battle experience, rode around the swarm of bodies and picked off Woads until their quivers ran empty. Dinadan nearly dove off his steed as he charged into the fray. Tristan gracefully slid from his mount's back as he engaged several Woads at once. The battle was bloody, but nothing they couldn't handle. Tristan and Dinadan fought near each other as they took down every foe that crossed their paths._

_It was when the battle began to draw to a close. Tristan was finishing off a particularly feisty Woad woman when a second, that he had previously injured, snuck up from behind him. Dinadan had seen this unfair tactic and was behind Tristan covering his back before the Woad knew what was happening. They both finished their opponents without much difficulty as they turned to each other to assess any injuries they might have acquired. It was then that the blade of an axe came out of nowhere aimed at Tristan's torso; however Dinadan pushed the younger scout out of the way leaving himself to be struck in the stomach._

_Tristan glanced up from where he had landed to see Dinadan struck through his armor. His sight turned red as he noticed the Woad standing just meters away. Tristan found a forgotten bow and arrows before the Woad even thought of retreating. His shot was true as it pierced the man through the thigh leaving him immobile until Tristan felt like dealing with him._

_Before Dinadan crumbled to the ground, Tristan was behind him easing him down. "Guess this wasn't my day," Dinadan choked as he took a labored breath. "That pierced me right through…"_

"_You'll be fine, we'll get Dag to fix you up," Tristan assured him weakly as he held Dinadan's head in his lap. "I've seen men lie though worse."_

"_Tristan, my innards are being skewered by a rusty axe. The only hope I have right now is that they poisoned the blade so I die quickly, instead of a slow and painful one as I bleed out," Dinadan chuckled as he thought of how he was to die._

"_Don't say that," Tristan scolded fiercely. By now, the others were gathered around the pair watching because there was little else that they could do. Galahad stood bawling into Gawain's shoulder, as he watched on of the men he thought invincible die a painful and slow death._

"_You're worrying," Dinadan pointed out amusedly as he watched Tristan stroke the hair out of his eyes. "Stop fighting what is unavoidable, Tristan."_

"_Will you shut up? You'll be fine, right Dag," Tristan looked up to the large healer with agonizing hope in his glassy eyes._

"_If I remove the blade, it will only cause him to bleed out faster, Tris. Perhaps it would be less cruel to end it faster for him, but I have not the heart to do it, nor do I think any of us does," Dagonet said truthfully knowing that Tristan wasn't one to seek false hope. Perhaps it would have been less cruel if Tristan was allowed to grasp optimism for a moment longer, but that would not have stopped the inevitable._

_Tristan let his gaze wander across to his fellow knights. The normally cocky Lancelot was gazing at his toes trying to hide his silent tears. Bors and Dag looked solemn because in their years they had seen too many good men die such torturous deaths as this. Gawain looked sick as he held Galahad who still cried, which no one would blame him for because they all felt this loss. Percival and Lamorak stood beside each other, quietly lending their support. Kay stood like a stone wall as he held Bedivere from breaking down. Finally, Arthur stood with his gaze pointed towards his heaven as he prayed for his helpless scout. _

"_You can save you prayers, Arthur," Dinadan said as blood spilled from his blue lips. "I don't want to find your heaven. I would much rather roam the steppes of home as a great stallion instead. I'd get bored up there," Dinadan choked out. Everyone looked at him knowing that he was fighting a losing battle with the pain. "A moment," he asked of Arthur as he felt that he was beginning to fade._

"_Knights," Arthur said with a broken authority, and they all left Tristan and Dinadan to their final goodbyes. Each man set out to collect their own armor and horses with a heavy heart, knowing that in a matter of minutes they would be one less. _

_They knew that their brother was dead when Tristan silently stalked across the battlefield to the immobilized Woad. The one who was responsible for Dinadan's death. The only sounds over the entire field were the screams of that Woad as Tristan executed unspeakable tortures upon him. Normally, Arthur would not allow such methods, but he could not have stopped Tristan even if he had wanted to. The others just waited patiently for the deed to be done. _

_No one touched the body knowing very well that Tristan would insist upon caring for it. Tristan was several inches shorter than his former friend, but he would manage to carry the body to its horse. No one spoke but instead felt the emptiness within them all._

"What went wrong? Am I never to find peace," Tristan asked the air with jug in hand. He remembered how after they had returned with Dinadan's body, he had come to this very spot to clean his friend's weapons and armor, as his body was prepared. Dinadan's sword and bow had gleamed as Tristan had stood them in the earth at the head of his brother's grave.

"I fucked up. I don't know when it started but everything is fucked up because of it… She stole your sword. I suppose that's where it started. Or maybe it started when I stole her life instead of ending it. Either way, I messed up. I never mess up. Since you've been gone, I haven't missed a Woad or a warning sign. I'm the one that watches the others' backs instead of the other way around. I haven't looked to the past in two years, but this woman comes and takes your sword, and now I am haunted by both my past and present… and now I'm returning to Eboracum for our next mission.

"Isolde hasn't left my thoughts since Arthur told me. Everything I do is haunted by her presence in my thoughts. I don't even know what became of Rosheen. Is she beside her mother or worse, is she alone at that fort living of another's care," Tristan let out a defeated sigh as he leaned against the frame of the bed taking a long pull of mead. "If I return, will they execute me for her death? Will they imprison me for surviving their torture? Will they punish the others for saving me? I can't let that happen. If I don't return, what will become of Cassia? Will she go to the highest bidder, or will Arthur set her free? If I return, will I be able to face her after seeing Isolde's grave? I took Rena right in front of Cassia. She hasn't forgiven me, but I can't blame her. I haven't forgiven myself," Tristan trailed off just letting himself be comforted by his surroundings. Tristan rarely spoke three words together when in the company of others, but in the company of his friend's memory he spoke without restraint. Dinadan had never reprimanded Tristan, even when he had deserved it. They were more of brothers than friends because they needed nothing but the other's presence to know how they felt.

Tristan received no answers in Dinadan's old quarters, but when he left many hours later his arrival, Tristan was more at peace with himself. It was a feeling he hadn't had in many months. Hopefully sleep would not abandon him on this night, but Tristan knew his sense of hope would not last long.

XxXxX

Tristan had been summoned into Arthur's office long before dawn and had been sitting there ever since, waiting for his commander to arrive. Tristan had barely slept the entire night. He was constantly haunted by distorted memories of the past that each cursed him for his treatment of Cassia. Ironically, it was Cassia who succeeded in banishing these demons. It seemed as though every time he began to suffer, she was there to wake him from his hell, even if it was with a bucket of cold water or a hard shove to the ribs. He had tried to apologize to her the night before, but she had dismissed him by changing the subject. He had also found that she had returned his four coins to his change pouch, for what reason he was uncertain. Perhaps his coin was a tainted as he was, in her eyes.

Tristan glanced around the office, trying to keep his normally unyielding mind off the pleasant Roman slave within his quarters. In the dull gray of the morning light, Tristan could see no more than the clutter which Arthur's desk had become after Percival's passing. Percival had always been the one to keep order within Arthur's office, simply because Percival was one of the few that could read Latin. In return for his services, Percival was allowed to read any and all of the volumes that covered Arthur's shelves. After his death, Arthur tried to keep his office in order but grief bit hard when he would return a volume to its correct place. He had given up after several weeks. Tristan sighed as he remembered Percival, letting his head lull into the palms of his hands.

Arthur entered the room just as the sun was inching its way into the sky. "Sorry to wake you Tristan, but as you know, we must leave within the hour," Arthur said by way of greeting. Tristan simply nodded and let his commander continue. "I understand that this is not going to be an easy mission for you, but you are one of my best men and I know you shall not fail me. I, however, also know that you have been giving Cassia quite a hard time here. I, as a commander, cannot let such behavior go unpunished. You will be under strict watch while on this mission and since we have little time now, you will face public punishment when we return. Do you understand," Arthur asked not taking any pleasure from the situation.

"Will you have Jols ask Vanora to watch Cassia while we are away? She is not on speaking terms with me," was all that Tristan said.

"It will be unnecessary. Cassia will accompany us to Eboracum. There is no use in arguing about it either, Tristan. It is an order. Vanora said that Cassia is in need of new dresses, and Eboracum is constantly in supply from Rome. It will give Cassia a chance to breath outside the walls for a few days."

Tristan left Arthur's office in a bitter mood. He was to be punished during the trip by her constant presence then physically flogged upon return. This only added to the agitation that he already felt at returning to his old fort. As Tristan made his way back toward his room, he thought about his situation. He knew that Arthur was simply bringing Cassia as a form of punishment for the scout. He also knew that Arthur probably cared less about her well being than Tristan seemed to. Arthur was kind to the woman, but Tristan knew that Arthur did not approve of anyone who caused trouble within his ranks. Cassia had don't nothing but cause trouble since she arrive, although none of it was by her own actual doing.

Tristan did not wish to ever return to his previous fort. There was nothing left but torment for him there. Every time he even thought of his past, Isolde's bright face haunted him for days afterward. Tristan had lost his heart at Eboracum, and he had little chance of finding it upon his return.

As Tristan stepped back into his chamber, he found Cassia sprawled on his cot, covered in unfinished laundry. She must not have expected him to return to his room, or she would never have relaxed as such. Tristan looked at her peaceful face and let her sleep while he threw a couple of her worn dresses into her satchel and collected her healing bag. Once Tristan had packed her belongings, he sat beside her on the cot. He remembered the last time that they had sat on the bed at the same time without hateful feelings. It had been a terrible three months since then.

Tristan found it hard to believe that he missed the quiet talks they had shared, but then the memories of Percival hanging between two trees came flooding back. Tristan tapped Cassia on her uncovered shoulder as he tried to rein his temper. "Get up. You are to join us. Arthur's orders," Tristan growled as Cassia sat bolt upright. He had not meant to sound so angry, but he was just happy not to have sounded too threatening.

"I thought you had left already," Cassia sputtered, worrying that she had done something wrong.

"I have packed some of your affects. We leave presently," Tristan said curtly as he turned to quit the room before he did something he would regret. Cassia just sneered at his retreating form as she rose from the bed and threw a dark dress over her shift. There was not use in looking nice if she was to spend the next few days traveling.

As Cassia entered the stables carrying her healing bag and satchel, she found all of the knights congregated. They seemed to be waiting for her because they were all mounted and otherwise ready to leave. Cassia looked for Tristan, but found his mount missing. So, she approached Gawain. "Do you mind if I join you," she asked meekly as she stood before him.

"I could think of no better company to liven up a boring ride," Gawain beamed down at her as he took her bags. Once they were fastened to his saddle, Gawain lifted Cassia to sit in front of him seeing as though she would have fallen off the horse's back if seated behind him due to her dress. Cassia quickly thanked him as they moved into an easy trot, out of the stables. "Tristan is scouting ahead right now so until he returns, you shall be my companion," Gawain explained as they watched the wall fade into the distance.

"You could always ride with me," Lancelot broke in. "I'm sure that I could make the ride much more memorable," he said smoothly as he waggled his eyebrows.

"I am actually hoping that this will not be a very memorable trip. I just wish to go and return with little excitement," Cassia explained.

"And she likes it just where she is, don't you," Gawain said defensively. Cassia laughed as she leaned back against Gawain's strong chest as they continued on. Once Lancelot moved to the front of the column beside Arthur, Gawain turned to Cassia, "Are you alright. Vanora told me about Rena."

"I am fine Gawain. Angry with Tristan but fine," Cassia spoke exasperatedly.

"Has he apologized," Gawain fumed. He could barely stop himself from attack his close friend because of what he had done to the sweet Roman.

"He has tried, but you know how poor he is with words, and every time he starts I cut him off. He hasn't laid a finger on me since, so I know he feels terrible about it. But, I am not about to forgive him for all that he has done. To forgive him so easily would be to condone his behavior, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," Cassia explained coolly.

Gawain nodded and simply held her tighter as they continued on. "He spoke to Dag about everything yesterday, then disappeared until long after dark. I've never smelt alcohol on his breath since I stole his sword, but last night he reeked of brew. However, when he returned his was in good spirits. He even told me that I looked nice with my hair loose and wearing my worn out dress. I don't understand his ways, and I doubt I ever shall," Cassia concluded as they watched Tristan approach the column.

The sun was high in the sky as Tristan rejoined the column of knights. He had been riding hard all morning and simply wished to be able to rest before riding out again. However, he knew that Arthur would work him until he was bone weary the entire trip. As commander of the Sarmatian knights, Arthur rarely had to discipline or punish his men, but when he did they never made that mistake again. Tristan knew that Arthur was incensed over his behavior, and that he wouldn't go easy on him just because he knew Tristan's past. Tristan would have had it no other way.

At least if he wasn't resting, he wasn't dreaming of Isolde or his misdeeds. Tristan reined in next to Arthur and told him that the path was clear. They would probably make camp just before entering the deeper forest. Arthur simply nodded curtly, and dismissed that scout to the back of the line. Tristan fell back beside Gawain where Cassia sat contentedly in his arms. They rode in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before Gawain asked, "Is the path clear?"

"It is clear to where we shall camp tonight. After that, we will enter the forest, and there is no telling if the Woads have completely taken it back or not," Tristan answered darkly because he knew very well that the Woads ruled these forests. He did not admit it though because he felt no need to frighten Cassia, knowing that she still feared another encounter with the blue warriors.

"But we are far south of the Wall," Galahad said incredulously from beside Gawain.

"Makes little difference. If Rome is not there to stop them, they will take back what is rightfully theirs," Tristan replied with practiced indifference. "I will be scouting shortly, if you don't mind the company," Tristan addressed Gawain with little more than his eyes. Tristan would have taken Cassia, but he knew that she would be happier with Gawain's company. Tristan believed that Cassia despised him, so he would not torment her with his presence.

"No, she can stay. I would hate to tie you down," Gawain answered as he kicked his horse to head up to Bors who was actually quiet at the moment.

"Vanora angry with you," Cassia asked as they pulled up beside the boisterous knight.

"She's been going nuts. She made me sleep in the stables last night," Bors replied loudly.

"You do realize that you have a room in the barracks other than Vanora's hut, don't you," Gawain pointed out as Cassia held back a small smile.

"What difference does it make where I sleep if it's not next to Vanora," the large knight asked in defeat.

Cassia reached over and placed a hand on his large knee. "Perhaps she's the one that needs to hear that, instead of us. She loves you like no other ever could, but she's just a bit worried now with another babe on the way," Cassia spoke sagely.

Tristan rode behind the group, beside Dagonet who was silently lending his support to the scout. Dag knew that there were going to be problems before their return to the fort. All he could do was wait to pick up the pieces. So many times he found himself wishing that Dinadan was alive because the jovial knight had been the only one to be able to truly connect with Tristan. Dinadan could have just looked at the expressionless scout and known what was wrong. Now it was anyone's guess what was on the scout's mind, and no one was willing to venture close enough to lend any assistance.

Dag looked over to the silent scout for a moment. Tristan rode with hunched shoulders as he watched Cassia and Gawain through his fringe. Dagonet cringed at how exhausted his companion looked. His eyes were full of shadows as he shook the tangled hair from his face. Tristan bore a stare of defeat every time his eyes made contact with Cassia and Gawain. Dagonet wasn't sure why this affected Tristan so, but he had a feeling it had to do with the scout's past. Tristan was a man who avoided the past even more than he avoided conversation, and that was saying a lot.

All of a sudden, Tristan kicked his horse into a gallop toward the horizon. His hawk was soaring in the east, and Tristan followed it faithfully. Dagonet noticed Cassia's line of sight follow the scout until he vanished into the landscape as he was oft to do. Dag couldn't tell what he saw in her eyes, but he almost thought it was akin to worry.

XxX

What did you think of Dinadan's death and Tristan still looking for counsel from him even after his death? What do you think of Arthur's reasoning?

There you have it, another chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. As always thanks to those of you who took that time to review as well as all of you who continue to read this story. Please continue to let me know what you think because it really helps me keep going.


	30. Words without Merit

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

Chapter 30 Words without Merit

Tristan came and went from the group many times over the first day, never riding with the knights more than a quarter of an hour at a time. The others laughed and joked as was per usual on a mission, but Tristan only seemed to become tenser every time he returned. Only Dag, Arthur, and Cassia noticed this, and only the first two knew the reason for it.

Tristan had just taken his place at the back of the line when Lancelot began to rib Bors about Vanora's attentions. "She's just relieved, Bors, that this babe will have my features instead of your inferior ones," Lancelot stated cheerfully.

"I should probably go up and stop him before Bors murders him," Kay said from beside Tristan.

"If Bors kills him, it will save the rest of us the trouble," Tristan said seriously as Kay laughed and rode up to silence his friend.

The sun was well on it's way to setting, and Tristan knew they were close to where he decided would be good for the night's camp. He kicked his horse into a gallop to the front of the line where he briefly spoke to Arthur about their progress. Cassia had not taken her eyes off her master as he stiffly went about his duties. It seemed that he was not only tired but also plagued by something else that she couldn't place.

Though Cassia was still furious with the scout, she continued to worry over his well being. Over the past two days, Cassia had noticed Tristan's slight limp returning as well as the fact that he couldn't get more than an hour's rest before he was assaulted by nightmares which she pityingly would wake him from. Now they were stopping for the night, and she only hoped that the scout would be able to sleep somewhat peacefully. Not only because he needed the rest, but because she feared what the others would think if they heard him during his nightmares.

Gawain lifted Cassia from the saddle as soon as the group had stopped. Tristan was gone even before the other horses had come to a complete halt. He left with the promise of dinner as the others set up came. Cassia did her own part by gathering firewood with Galahad while the others pitched the camp. Galahad was suitable company for the task. Over the three months of Cassia's captivity, Galahad had put aside his hatred for her and was now quite amiable company. Though Cassia no longer shared Galahad's youthful fantasies, she was not so disillusioned as not to believe the boy was noble if naught else.

When the pair returned to camp with the arms full of useable wood, they found Dagonet sitting on a log skinning a deer while the others waited patiently. Cassia and Galahad immediately set about making the fire while Dag finished his preparations.

All of the knights and Cassia sat contentedly around the fire as they ate the venison that Dag had roasted for them. "You rival Vanora in you culinary skills, Dagonet," Cassia said lightly as she finished her own generous portion. She was seated between Gawain and Tristan, who had barely touched his own portion and had instead opted to feed it to his hawk.

"It was actually Vanora who taught me to cook, Cassia," Dagonet replied modestly. "And if it weren't for Tristan, we would all be suffering through a meal of hardtack and weak ale."

"Yes, well, I am sure that the pleasure was all Tristan's because harming helpless creatures seems to be his specialty," Cassia replied bluntly. The others laughed except for Dagonet and of course the scout. Tristan took the opportunity to depart their company and move to his own camp just beyond their own. When Tristan had gone, Dagonet turned to Cassia in a fatherly manner, though he was hardly a year her senior. "It is imprudent to insult the man who spared your life. Not even dogs bite the hand that feeds them," The large knight said in gentle reprimand.

"It was wrong of me, but he has been very infuriating these past few days. I can scarcely be in the same room with him without wishing to throw something at him, but I cannot complain. Things could be far worse," Cassia reasoned. "I should be off to find him anyway before I am too tired to do so," Cassia said as she rose from the circle of knights.

Just as she was to take her leave, Arthur stopped her. "Lady Cassia, would you be so kind as to inform Tristan that he will have the last watch," he asked her kindly.

"Certainly sir. I bid you all good night," and before anyone could reciprocate her well wishes, she too has disappeared into the night.

Tristan sat silently upon a log not too far from the knights' camp. He had laid down both his and Cassia's spare blankets knowing that she would insist on joining him if for no other reason than familiarity. They had shared quarters long enough now that they were used to each other's presence, which was something that Cassia didn't have with the others no matter how close they were.

Cassia came stumbling upon Tristan by pure luck as she literally tripped over the log upon which he was seated. He caught her with ease as she toppled forward. "It is unwise to go into strange lands at night with neither a guide nor a guardian," he said in a whisper as he let her regain her footing.

"Perhaps if you had not left so abruptly, I would not have been without guidance or guard," Cassia said irritably.

"Perhaps if you knew your place, I would not have let so abruptly," Tristan parried.

"Perhaps if you were not such a cold hearted bastard, I would not speak out of place," Cassia fought on.

"I have never pretended to be anything else. I promised you two things when I took you; your life and your safety from ill intentioned men. Have I broken either," he asked darkly.

"No but you cannot save me from you own ill intentions," Cassia said firmly with her hands balled into small fists.

"Is it that you wish death or simply enjoy courting it," Tristan asked as he moved to lie upon his pallet.

"I seek neither. Do you enjoy tormenting me or is it that you enjoy watching others' pain simply because you can," Cassia countered strongly.

"I take pleasure from neither," he sighed regretfully, "now go to sleep before you alert the entire forest of our location." Tristan then attempted to find some comfort on his pallet while hoping she would take his advice. Tristan had not wished to fight with Cassia on this night, but that was all they seemed to be able to do as of late.

Tristan sighed once more as Cassia continued to berate him for everything she could think of. As she did this, she began to pace the small came. Tristan tried to ignore her and get some sleep. However, Tristan was a very light sleeper, and he knew that none would most likely come on this night. Suddenly, Tristan heard a startled squeak and soon felt the impacted of a soft body hitting his chest. Cassia had tripped over the fallen stump again and now she lay across his chest exhausted. Cassia made no move to get up seeing as she was tired and out of breath, and Tristan was in no mood to be verbally attacked again so he did not push her away since she had ceased yelling. Together, they lay like that throughout the night.

It was several hours before dawn when Kay came to wake Tristan. What he found, he hadn't expected. Tristan lay on his back with one knee propped up. Laying unconscious across his chest was Cassia, who looked peaceful as a fed babe on its mother's breast. Tristan didn't stir until Kay was nearly upon him which was highly unusual for the scout.

"Tris, you guard is up," Kay whispered as he neared his dangerous friend. Tristan opened one eye as Kay spoke, then proceeded to push the peaceful Cassia off him like a sack of grain. He stood up without complaint, and Cassia continued to slumber peacefully. "Make up with each other," Kay asked jokingly in a hushed tone.

"Far from it," Tristan replied lazily as he pushed his messy hair out of his eyes then searched for his heavier cloak.

"What happened then," Kay asked, now interested.

"I refused to argue with her any longer and lay down. She continued to yell at me for every offense under the sun and drove herself to exhaustion. She ended up tripping over that log…" Tristan pointed in the dark to the log which Cassia's feet were still draped over. "…and proceeded to fall on me. She was too tired to move and I couldn't be bothered to do so for her, so we fell asleep as such," Tristan finished his pathetic tale only leaving out the fact that he had slept better this night than he had in over three months.

"Next time lie and say you made up," Kay proclaimed. "Because the truth is terribly pathetic… Good luck with your watch," Kay said as he moved back toward the camp.

Tristan looked through the shadow of the night to where Cassia slept contentedly. He let himself wonder a moment at how a woman as practical as she could fall prey to the lies of a simple Roman merchant. What made him truly despise her had nothing to do with his sword, for he had it at his side now which was what counted. Nor did it even stem from Percival's unfortunate demise. He had forgiven her long ago for that even though it still made him fume. His true hate of her stemmed from her loyalty and innocence. Before him lay a woman whose husband left her with his debt to pay. In life the man did little more than bed and lie to her and in death he stole her honor by his own disgrace. Instead of cursing his name though, she was oblivious to his deceit, whether by naivety or choice. Instead she sought out to pay his debts and restore his honor by throwing away her own.

A noble fool, he would have called her save for the fact that she was far more learned than himself. The woman had to be clever in order to have survived this long outside the protective walls of Rome. If she was simply a fool, he could have dismissed her and let it go. However, it was the fact that Cassia knew her own disgrace and was still willing to risk all she had for loyalty to a man who did naught to deserve it, which tore at him. Now she had given that fierce loyalty to Tristan as his slave, and Tristan despised her more for it. He knew that he had done nothing to warrant her unwavering loyalty, and he could not help himself from doing all in his power to break it, for her own good.

Tristan didn't hate Cassia or even dislike her. He despised her loyalty, but aside from that he valued her presence even if he was unwilling to admit it. Cassia was the type of person who asked for no more that one was willing to give, and was content even when one offered nothing. Tristan valued this quality above all that he detested in her because he no longer had anything to give and it was nigh impossible to find one that accepted that without trying to change it.

Tristan shook his head and did a sweep of the camp and nearby forest before returning just as the predawn light began to brighten the sky. He lightly kicked Cassia with his booted foot as he began to clean up his pallet. Cassia lazily rolled to face him, "what do you need now," she asked groggily with her messy hair in her eyes.

"Nothing, but you need to wash up and dress before the others rise if you wish any privacy," Tristan said emotionlessly as he gathered his meager belongings. "There is a stream nearby if you wish to bathe. It will be cold with the autumn current, but water is hard to come by out here in any state." Tristan tried to sound less menacing than usual. He hoped that she might not be so upset with him if he offered her a little kindness, which was not something the scout truly knew how to do.

"Thank you, she said as she rose to follow him to the streamed he spoke of. They walked for several minutes through the underbrush of the forest before they came to the gentle stream. It was so concealed that there was barely enough bank to strip upon and leave one's garments. Tristan and Cassia stood on he deserted bank before he turned his back slowly to give her some privacy. Tristan himself was hoping to have enough time to bathe because he was once again covered in mud from scouting.

"Gods, that's cold," Tristan heard after a dainty splash. "I think I was better off filthy. I won't be warm all day after this," she laughed actually enjoying the chilled water, though he shouts said otherwise. "You should try it," she called to his back.

Tristan slowly turned back to face the water as he was splashed by Cassia as she played around. Without a word, Tristan removed his coat and tunic. Cassia did him the courtesy of turning around in the water as he had done for her on land. Tristan silently removed his boots and breeches as he let his keen senses assure him that they were in not danger.

Cassia heard a hiss as the normally silent knight entered the water. "I told you that it was cold," she said smugly as she turned and swam past him.

"Me and every Woad within the next three leagues," Tristan growled as he tried to ignore the numbing sensation running through his body. Tristan, not being one to indulge in fooling around, immediately began to wash himself with the frigid water. Cassia submerged and swam about like a child instead of a woman of nearly thirty winters, while Tristan took the opportunity to remove a day's worth of mud and leaves from his weathered skin and hair. Tristan was about to remove his braids and submerge when Cassia grabbed his ankle from beneath the water. Tristan immediately grabbed her by the arms and crossed them over her chest while pulling her back to his firm chest.

"I brought you here so that you might bathe, not pester me like a child. In Sarmatia a woman of you years would be expected to be a model for the young girls to follow. A woman of your age would also be expected to have produced several offspring as well, or they would consider her useless or cursed," he said in her ear from behind; however, his voice wasn't nearly as threatening as it usually was when he was upset. Cassia just brushed it off as him not wanting anyone to know that a woman had been able to sneak up on him.

"Well there are no young girls to impress, and I am perfectly happy being cursed, so let me have my fun," Cassia protested as she tried to wiggle out of his grip by kicking her feet in all directions. Tristan just held on tighter, enjoying her playful, instead of angry, assault. It was good to see her in a mood that didn't condemn him, for more than a moment. Cassia laughed as he pulled her under the water with him in hopes of ceasing her attacks, but she continued to wriggle out of his grasp.

Cassia didn't realize just where her kick was aimed until she heard Tristan grunt weakly and let her go. She swam away quickly until she noticed him doubled-over in the water, trying to hold his composure but failing miserably. Cassia instantly felt bad for him and ventured back to his side. She rubbed his back as he took several deep breathes to regain his calm. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but they couldn't seem to do anything to each other without causing pain.

Cassia found herself apologizing to the scout as he made his way toward the bank of the stream. Tristan just waved her off as he left the water in search of garments as well as warmth. Cassia followed him out to find her own clothing. Cassia wasn't about to wait for the scout to turn his back till she got out because they had just been far more intimate in the water, whether they had truly noticed it or not. Cassia was dressed before Tristan was, in just her shift and dress, so she sat on the bank quietly. She was unwilling to forgive Tristan for many of the wrongs her had committed, but he had tried to do something nice for her. He had actually made an effort, but that was ruined by one poorly placed kick. Cassia berated herself wishing to forgive the scout to at least some degree so that maybe they could go back to the way things were before Percival.

Her attention was drawn back to Tristan as he stood next to her, still slightly flushed from being kicked in a very sensitive area. He held out his graceful hand and pulled Cassia to her feet. He didn't say a word as he led her back to the camp, only to quickly mount up and ride out in order to scout. The others were beginning to wake and soon the camp was disassembled, and they were once again on their way.

This day Cassia rode with Kay in order to give Gawain's horse a break. "I trust you slept well last evening," Kay inquired lightly as they rode at the back of the line.

"Why is it that you ask," Cassia asked calmly.

"Just because when I came upon you two at the shift of the watch, you looked quite comfortable upon his chest," Kay said not unkindly but with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"I simply passed out where I fell which just so happened to be on this chest you speak of," Cassia said in her own defense. Kay was a very close friend, and he always took it upon himself to goad her about her relationship with the scout. She, however, always insisted that there was not relationship, not even one of friendship between the scout and herself.

"That's exactly what he said," Kay laughed knowing that it was probably true, which was even more pathetic.

Tristan once again was not among them most of the time. This day, however, it was because they had entered the forest. Tristan scouted ahead faithfully as he was once again assaulted by his own thoughts. Tristan first berated himself for letting his guard down around Cassia for even a short moment. Tristan wasn't upset with her for kicking him in the groin, but he saw it as a reminder as to why her kept her at a distance. Then Tristan began to think about the last time her let someone break through his barriers. Isolde had found love in him. Dinadan had found friendship, and now Cassia was finding humanity. All of which had ended in pain or would do so if her didn't put an end to it.

It was Tristan's muddled thoughts about his old fort, Isolde, and his current predicament that led Tristan to be caught off guard by the Woad archer. The arrow cut through Tristan's sleeve leaving a nice gash in the scout's arm. Tristan ignored the stinging pain as he quickly notched his own arrow and returned the shot, felling the daft archer.

Tristan quickly made sure that the path was clear and there wasn't an ambush lying ahead before he turned back toward the knights. He held his reins so tightly that his mount began to fidget. Tristan was so incensed that he had let his guard down, yet again, because of angry thoughts about Cassia. The woman had done nothing but cause trouble for him since before he even met her, and now he had come to a point where even his legendary patience could not stop his fury. It was not really Cassia who was the cause of Tristan's rage, but instead the mission, his past, and his growing anxieties over his return to Eboracum which were responsible. However, Cassia was the perfect target to take such rages out upon.

Cassia watched Tristan appear from the thick forest to ride beside Arthur. Within minutes they ceased riding in a very small clearing that Tristan found for them. All of the knights noticed how tense Tristan was as he paced the tiny camp. His horse was also tense as it constantly moved about trying to get closer to his master. Had Dinadan been there, he would have recognized the miniscule clearing as the one where death had nearly caught Tristan. This had been the clearing where Dinadan had found Tristan's faithful steed in quite a panic while its master lay dying just meters away in another small clearing. Now the added anxiety of the past haunting him only put Tristan in a fouler mood.

Cassia had not been allowed to go out to gather wood this night, for her own safety. So instead, she looked to aid Tristan in setting up his camp in hopes of smoothing things over after their swimming incident. She had easily followed him to an even smaller clearing beside the first. Upon her arrival she noticed Tristan holding a muddy and destroyed cuirass. His own cuirass was stripped to reveal the deep gash on his arm, but he didn't seem to notice.

Tristan threw the cuirass aside in disgust at the man who had worn it. Tristan despised his former self. The man that knew how to love and be loved was a far weaker man than he ever wished to be. Tristan's gaze turned to Cassia as she fumbled into clearing.

"Is that man dead," she asked worriedly as she approached the scout.

"Yes," was his simple answer which bore no emotion.

Cassia shuddered at the scout's bluntness, completely oblivious to his true meaning. Tristan, scout of Eboracum, had died out here, but the man before her had taken his place. "Are you well," she asked as she prepared her own pallet. Tristan did not reply so Cassia tried a different approach. "Would you like me to take a look at you arm? It still bleeds."

Tristan turned to her with fire in his cold eyes. He had hoped that Gawain would have kept her occupied so that she would not follow him, but here she was being concerned. He could no longer restrain himself from unleashing his frustration and anxiety. He had not wished to attack her with his anger yet again, but here she was before him as he broke down.

"Wench, is all that you can do, pester me? It is worse than if you were my wife. At least then I could bed you to make up for you incessant chatter," he growled with calm fury that truly frightened Cassia to the core.

"I just wish to tend you wound," Cassia said meekly knowing that she could do little more than let him waste his fury on her until he exhausted himself.

"Tend my wound; you could not tend a corpse! You are a burden to all who are forced to watch over you because you are a waste. You cannot cook more than a headache remedy. You cannot mend or mother. You are useless. I can tend my own wounds, I do not need you clumsy fingers to do the job for me," he continued hoping that she would leave before his fury took to physical abuse.

"I-I…" she fumbled as tears came to her eyes from his cruel words. Cassia watched Tristan stand like a wolf ready to attack. His shoulders were raised like hackles and his posture was beyond tense. He was barely controlling his rage, and Cassia was too frightened to move. He had never acted as such to her before. She knew something was wrong that didn't involve her, but Tristan needed to release his frustration on someone. She was willing to be the target so long as he didn't go too far, as he was known to do.

"You what? You are a waste. Your family was right to tell you to become a whore. You are good for little else. At least then, someone would be serviced by your existence," his words were beyond cruel which was only magnified by his dead eyes that bore into Cassia.

"How do you know that, that my mother had told me to do that," Cassia said between sobs as she finally found the power to back away from the vicious scout.

"Look at yourself, wench! A sturdy body and few other agreeable features, you were born for wenching," Tristan spat out as if it disgusted him to be in her presence.

Cassia felt her own blood boil with his cruel assertions, and turned to him one last time before fleeing the clearing. "Perhaps I was born to be a whore, but I chose a different path. At least I wasn't born a heartless bastard such as yourself. At least the only pleasure I find is not at another's expense, and at least when I die it will not be alone in a dark forest with an arrow in my back, left for the wolves to pick apart," she shrieked as she fled the clearing.

Tristan nearly went after her to show her, her place, but he reined his anger away from her and instead destroyed his small camp. He had not wanted to attack her, and he was grateful that she had fled when she did. He had not meant to hurt her or hurtle her past at her, after all he was haunted by his own enough not to wish that torment on another. A small tree bore the brunt of his abuse as he assaulted it with his sword until it fell. Tristan attacked the small camp until he was exhausted and collapsed against the tree, where four years prior he had collapsed and removed the very cuirass that he found earlier. Tristan lifted the heavy garment and held it close as he fell apart. All of the tension, pain, and fear of the past and present came back and left the scout immobile against the strong tree. He was in trouble and he knew that Dinadan would not be saving him this time.

Cassia could not stop the tears from flowing in rivers down her red cheeks as she headed back toward the main camp which was not very far away. As she came close enough to see the campfire through the thick foliage she stopped and broke down even further. Tristan didn't need her. All her hopes had promises had been dashed with his cruel words. He had never needed her no matter what she had believed, and her loyalty to him had been as foolish as he returning is blade. He had told her she was better off as a tavern wench. He was worse than her mother because he had once shown her kindness which made his insults only harder to bear.

Cassia glanced down at her shackled wrists and ceased her tears. She was only a slave to her own foolishness, and she would not be a part of it anymore. Cassia changed her direction to the deep forest. She had survived on her own before and she would again. If she just so happened to die out here, it would be no worse than living in constant torment. With those sentiments, Cassia disappeared into the dark forest, breaking her loyalty and enslavement to the heartless scout.

XxX

Sorry this chapter took so long to be posted. I hope you enjoyed it and don't hate Tristan too much, for being an idiot. Thank you to my wonderful reviewers, your input truly helps me write. Please continue to let me know what you think of this. It is always appreciated!


	31. The Chase

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that has to do with the movie King Arthur or the legends.**

Chapter 31 The Chase

_He had returned to the fort in silent fury. Her dead eyes still watched him in his mind's eye. Tristan could feel nothing as he approached the black gates of his own personal hell. One thought was on his mind, revenge. Suicide or not, Tristan knew what, or who, the reason for it was._

_No sooner had Tristan stepped foot within the stone walls of the fort than ten Roman soldiers surrounded him with swords drawn. Tristan had nothing more than his ceremonial dagger, but he fought like a demon until the soldiers attacked him all at once._

_The two biggest guards wrestled a biting and scratching Tristan to the ground. Then he was chained and gagged before being dragged off to the commander's quarters. Within the hour Tristan was condemned for the murder of his betrothed and stripped to the waist in the fort's courtyard. Before Tristan could gather what was happening, he was being roughly tied up. Three tall and muscular soldiers entered the courtyard behind the commander. Gaius, as he was known to the few who didn't fear him, was a dark fellow. Many soldiers said he had Hades on his side because his eyes were black and soulless. _

"_Fifty lashes with the scorpion are to be dealt. If he passes out, you shall wake him before continuing," Gaius announced to the gathering crowd of villagers and soldiers._

_The three burly guards each carried a floggrum in their hands, known as the scorpion because of the barbs knotted into its tongues. Tristan's back, legs, and feet were assaulted in quick succession as the three men rained down blows upon his body._

_Tristan nearly bit through his lip in order not to give them the satisfaction of his screams. He could feel it as ever barb tore through the soft flesh of his back and thighs. He nearly gagged at the stench of his own flesh and blood permeating the air. Tristan had had many beatings from the Romans in his six years of service and his endurance was something to marvel at. The soldiers only had to stop the flogging once in order to rouse the defeated knight._

_As the final blow came down upon his back, Tristan knew that he had not seen the worst of his troubles. Blood streamed down his back in rivers as Tristan tried desperately to catch a weak and shallow breath. The master of the guard stepped forward and cut the scout loose only to let his exhausted body collapse into the dirt. Tristan fell on his raw back which sent blinding pain through his entire body._

_Before he knew what was happening, he was being dragged bodily to the prison where he was left in a pool of his own blood and sweat. It was there that he stayed until his wounds began to fester. It was several days later when Tristan was roughly dragged from his cell and fever dreams to be beaten by an entire contingent of soldiers. After the Romans had had their fill of torture for the evening, they saddled his horse and tied him to it. One soldier had rudely dressed the knight in a Roman cuirass and breeches before Tristan was thrown into the saddle. Then they had chased his horse out of the fort and into the forest where the Woads would find him in Roman garb and kill him slowly._

_Tristan had ridden, even in fever, through the forest for over a day before his body gave up on him and he tumbled from the saddle only to be dragged another league until the rope binding his wrists to the saddle broke. Tristan in his fever had crawled to a sturdy tree and curled up to die. When his fever had cleared for a brief moment, he had removed the Roman clothing refusing to die in such disgraceful garments._

_Tristan had long since surrendered to the oblivion of fever and pain when his horse brought him a visitor. It was not the blue warriors that the Romans had hoped for, but instead a loyal scout to Artorius Castus. Dinadan had wasted no time in covering the prone stranger in his own cloak and lifted him onto his trusted steed._

_Only a few words that his savior spoke penetrated Tristan's fevered mind. "Fate has a funny way of sending us someone to save our asses even when we're too far gone to realize that we need help, doesn't it," were the first words that Tristan ever heard Dinadan say. Tristan, never the fatalist, didn't believe those words at the time._

Tristan slowly woke from his painful memories. He was still very much a prisoner of his past, and he hated himself for it. As Tristan regained his weak composure, he remembered what had led to his current position. His harsh words to Cassia came back to him and he cringed at his tactlessness. Tristan threw aside the cuirass he held as he stood shakily to return to the main camp. He could sense his mount's unrest, and he berated himself for neglecting the frightened stallion. The horse had not forgotten the circumstances which had brought it here last time, and it was just as tense as Tristan.

The scout would tend to his troubles with his slave once his steed was cared for. Tristan paid little attention to anything but his mount as he walked through the camp. The dapple grey calmed visibly as Tristan carefully approached it. "Hey, how you been, eh," Tristan crooned as he lay his hand upon the horse's muzzle. "You're frightened, yeah… Well there is nothing to worry about because I'm here," Tristan reassured the beast.

The velvet nose of the stallion replied by nudging the torn sleeve which concealed his arrow wound. "Well I'm still in one piece, aren't I," Tristan asked the horse in an almost exasperated tone. He nearly laughed as the stallion nipped at his clothes as though to be sure.

It was Gawain that interrupted the calm moment by approaching the pair. "Tristan, I know you're busy but is Cassia still awake in your camp," the golden knight asked in an uncharacteristically gentle tone considering his feelings toward the scout.

Tristan's gentle mood faded fast as the scout spun to face Gawain. "She is not here with you," Tristan asked in a statement. Gawain just raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Tristan didn't say another word as he marched over to Arthur's tent, leaving a confused Gawain in his wake. "Arthur, a word," Tristan called from the outside. Arthur immediately immerged thinking it had to do with a scouting report. "I need permission to ride out," Tristan said emotionlessly.

"Tristan it is the middle of the night. What can you scout right now? Just get some rest," Arthur dismissed the request.

"Arthur I must collect my property. She had run off into the forest," _like a fool_, Tristan would have added.

"She probably went off to bathe or rest. She knows not to go out of sight of one of the fires," Arthur reasoned.

"She ran off, and I doubt she plans to return. It's my right to collect her."

"It is your duty to obey orders and you shall not jeopardize all of our safety so that you can run after a woman who is probably waiting at your camp right now," Arthur said sternly. "Now good night Tristan, you will not be needed for watch tonight so get some rest. We are all depending on you ability to scout," with that said Arthur disappeared back into his hut. "She has taken care of her self before. I am sure that she will be fine," Tristan heard from within the tent. He could have punched his commander at that moment. He knew that Cassia was more than capable of handling herself in most situations, but that was not a reason to leave her for the Woads to find. He knew Arthur was doing this because Tristan's scouting abilities were needed, but Tristan also knew that Arthur believed that if she was no longer there, she could cause no problems. Tristan knew differently.

Tristan had been loyal to Arthur since the day Dinadan had told him the half Roman was a good man. Tristan had never disobeyed an order that Arthur had decreed in his entire four years as scout. However, Tristan knew these forests well. He had scouted them long before he met Arthur and the others. Her had seen the atrocities that the Woads and committed against trespassers. Tristan still recalled his first mission on this forsaken isle.

_Tristan was fourteen and barely considered a man by his own tribe. He had been in Britain for less than a fortnight before they sent him to scout the surrounding forests. Gaius had said it was a test. If Tristan survived what they called the "blue demons" or "Woads" he would be the new scout. If he didn't survive, it wasn't much of a loss._

_Tristan rode his grey mount, which was barely a year old itself, through the dense forest with little more than a dagger as protection. He had been riding for over a day without seeing any signs of life, never mind demons, when he decided to return to the fort._

_It was as he passed through a small clearing near the fort that Tristan came face-to-face with adulthood. All innocence he might have possessed fled as Tristan gazed upon the massacred Roman scouting party. It had once consisted of three men. One man lay on the ground pinned by several spears. The second man looked to have been burned to death and was no longer identifiable. It was the third, and most likely the leader, which would haunt Tristan's nightmares for years to come. From a low tree branch hung the remains of the third soldier by the wrists. The man looked to have been skinned like an animal as he hung. Tristan emptied the contents of his stomach before remounting and rushing away from the hollow as fast as his young stallion would take him._

Tristan clenched his fists as he thought about the terrible tortures he had seen performed on men in these forests. Tristan's mind decided to torment him with images of Cassia facing such fates. He could only imagine coming upon her desecrated corpse before they reached the fort. Tristan knew that if she was captured, it would be no one's fault but his own. Though Tristan had done many things that he doubted he could ever atone for, he could not bear the though of what awaited the courageous Roman at the hands of the native rebels.

As Tristan walked back to his own battered camp, he knew he could not let her go. He had claimed that she was useless and a waste, but she had done naught but help him. Tristan was coldhearted, but she had been wrong when she called him heartless because it was only the tiny bit of heart that still existed within him that caused Tristan to disobey Arthur's command for the first time.

Tristan grabbed his bow and slung it over his shoulder to join his sword when he reached his camp. He took his quiver and all his daggers then left before he could change his mind. It took him nearly an hour to pick up Cassia's tracks in the dark, but he eventually found them.

He cursed the woman with ever step, as he followed her trail winding through the dense woods. Several times Tristan had to stop and relocate the tracks before moving on because of the terrible conditions. He could feel eyes on him as he moved swiftly but carefully through the under brush. Tristan only hoped that he would reach Cassia in time, so that he would have the pleasure of torturing her himself for the trouble she caused.

Cassia had been running aimlessly for nearly three hours when she finally collapsed. "I'm a fool," she cried out to the blackened heavens. "I'm a fool," she repeated in a softer tone. "All I have done has led me here, to the middle of a dark forest infested with Woads to die a far more painful death than if I had taken my own life back in Rome," she cried hysterically into her muddy palms. "The gods have cursed me, and I have done naught but bear it! Could he not have despised me? Could he have needed me? That was all I asked for and still I am without. I bore it all for what… pain…heartache…death?"

Cassia rose unsteadily from her place upon the ground and began a much slower progress in whatever direction she had been headed. "You continue to laugh at me, but I will not be defeated. I have faced Hades himself," who just so happened to have an affinity for apples, "and survived. I will not give up now." Cassia marched on slowly through the thick foliage for another hour before she was found.

The prints were very fresh, Tristan deduced as he knelt beside them. He would have made quicker progress had he not turned his ankle several miles back. The throbbing joint had caused him to slow his progress to that of a snail as he tried to keep weight off it. It had been pure luck that had resulted in the mishap. Tristan had had to turn back in order to find the trail again. As he searched for the path he had not been paying attention to his foot falls and had ended up stepping in an animal hole which caused him to turn his ankle.

Now, however, Tristan was meters away from his Roman annoyance. He could practically smell the oils she used in her hair. Tristan ignored the pain in his ankle as he began to run, very awkwardly, so he might head her off.

Cassia stepped into a clearing that was dimly light by the glow of the half moon. As she glanced at her surroundings, she was shocked to see the scout leaning against a tree on the opposite side. "How…why," Cassia sputtered as she saw the feral scout.

"I don't like to have to chase my property," Tristan said stonily as he approached her, hiding his limp carefully. When he was within arms distance, Cassia reached up to touch his angular cheek. She smiled faintly before retracting her hand, then slapped him so hard his face stung. Cassia's movements had been so fast, Tristan hadn't had the time to prevent the impact.

"You came after me! Can I not escape your torment for even one night? Must you follow me like death does a rabid wolf," she shouted at her sadistic master.

"You know not what lurks in these forests," Tristan said coldly, ignoring her outburst.

"What does it matter? If I never return, what difference would it make? I am useless to you, a waste. I'm not better than a common whore, you said it yourself," she threw his words back in his face as she began to feel tears prick her eyes yet again. Tristan would have winced at her words if he had not trained himself to remain stoic.

"Torments far worse than any you shall bear from my hand await you here. I will not be responsible for your senseless demise," Tristan once again ignored her attack.

"Just let me go. I would welcome any fate, so long as it doesn't include you," Cassia shrieked as she went to hit him again, but this time he caught her wrist and held it tightly.

"Cease your wailing before you attract every Woad in these woods," Tristan whispered menacingly.

"Let them come. I have avoided death long enough," Cassia shouted just to irritate the scout.

"I am ordering you to hold your tongue, woman, before you get us both…" Tristan didn't finish his sentence because he pushed her to the ground and removed his bow. In the blink of an eye, he had an arrow notched then flying at an invisible foe. Several more arrows were let loose before Tristan grabbed Cassia's arm and dragged her up. "Run," he said as he pushed her toward the way she had come.

Cassia did not argue as she was propelled into the forest with the scout on her heels. Tristan continued to launch arrows into the dark as he followed his Roman slave weaving through the trees. He knew that his arrows would not last forever, and that the Woads were simply biding their time, but he had few other options. "Just keep running, no matter what," Tristan said as they went.

Several minutes later, the scout let his final arrow fly, knowing that it was over. They broke through another clearing where several dozen Woads waited. Cassia came to an abrupt stop and was instantly sheltered behind Tristan's back. He stood his full height with sword drawn as he watched the surrounding Woads. Cassia clung to Tristan's back for a moment, fearing that it would be the last human contact either of them would ever feel.

Several Woads stepped forward, and Tristan stepped away from Cassia's desperate embrace to engage them. Cassia stood watching Tristan attack each Woad with grace and skill. She didn't move from her spot, knowing that she was surrounded on all sides by Woads and that they would just seize her if she moved anywhere. She had never really seen Tristan battle with his sword until not, and she finally understood his need of it. The blade was not an object but an extension of the scout. As it sliced through the arm of one Woad and the throat of another, it did nothing but what Tristan wanted. He was completely in control of every thrust, parry, and block. Cassia was in awe of the scout's skill as she watched the pile of bodies at his feet mount. Then it happened, just as it had the last time she watched him fight.

An arrow came from the trees to embed itself in Tristan's hip. He barely faltered, but it was enough for the Woads to take their chance. Six men charged at once, while Cassia stood helpless watching as the invincible scout was taken down like a wild animal. The Woads did not kill him before her eyes, but instead kicked, punched, stabbed, and beat him into unconsciousness.

Cassia didn't realize what she was doing until she pulled a Woad away from the scout's prone body, with all her might, and lay over Tristan to shield him from the blows. She received several kicks herself before a strong voice was heard. "Enough," the powerful voice of a leader said. "Bind them so we may be on our way."

The Woads immediately ceased their assault, but Cassia didn't relinquish her position. She was afraid that if she moved, she would see only a corpse beneath herself. A strong Woad roughly took her hands and bound them behind her. He then lifted her and threw her to another. She then watched as they removed the scout's armor and weapons. Then he bound the scout's arms and legs before lifting the limp body. Another Woad collected the weapons, and before Cassia could truly understand what was happening, they were moving.

Tristan woke to a multitude of pain throughout his entire body. Before he even fully reached consciousness, he knew that he had several cracked ribs. Tristan felt soft hands arranging his hair as he struggled to open his eyes. One eye refused his request because it was swollen shut, but the other weakly complied. The first thing that greeted Tristan's blurred vision was honey brown hair that veiled his face from his surroundings.

"I did not think you would wake so soon," Tristan heard the gentle tone in Cassia's voice and knew that things must be bad if she was being kind to him. "You have three cracked ribs, a multitude of bruises, an arrow in your hip, and an ankle that is so swollen that I can't tell what condition it is in," she said softly as she wiped sweat from his brow with the fabric of her dress. "The Woads have promised me some supplies so that I can tend you as best I can, although I am useless at such things with my clumsy fingers."

"They will not waste their supplies on us. They mean to torture and kill us," Tristan croaked out between shallow breaths.

"Perhaps that is so, but they gave me their word that I would have supplies," Cassia said patiently.

Tristan laughed sarcastically but only began to choke and cough causing Cassia to hold him down to prevent jostling his ribs. "You give your trust so easily," he gasped when he finally ceased choking. "You trust only those who will hurt you though, the Woads, me, your fool of a husband," Tristan said mockingly.

"Do not speak of that which you know naught," Cassia said sternly.

"I know plenty, woman. I know that your husband left you with little choice between thief and whore. I know that the man probably showered you in speeches and tokens of love. I know that he simply used you to bed and borrow from. He took and took just like a parasite: your youth, your freedom, your joy, and finally your life by asking you to pay that wretched debt. And you… any intelligent woman would have gone to another for aid or council, but not you. You valued the honor of your deceitful husband too highly to reveal his disgrace to any other. No, you just did as you were told. The noble, if not reluctant, thief is what you became. For nothing more than a bastard that simply pretended to love you because you were a fool," Tristan said coldly but truthfully.

He hadn't realized that his head was propped comfortably in her lap until, all of a sudden, it made impact with the hard ground. Cassia stood over him with cold eyes. "Do not speak of him as if he was no better than a criminal. He was a good man and loving husband. He was a far better man than you will ever be because he knew how to love and he was not afraid to. You simply hide from any emotion that doesn't suit your cold exterior. You're a coward, Tristan. No matter how great a warrior you are, you will always be a coward which might very well be worse than being a fool," Cassia said with cold detachment.

Tristan was prevented from replying as a young Woad girl, of no more than fifteen summers, entered the hut they were held in, carrying a small basin and a satchel of healing supplies. "Father said to ask if you needed any aid with the knight," the small brunette asked Cassia, who still stood over Tristan's immobile body.

Cassia looked down at the scout's expressionless face but focused on his one open eye as the young Woad arranged the supplies. Cassia knew that Tristan's pride would not allow him to receive aid from a Woad, but Cassia also wished to teach him a lesson. Not to mention, she wanted to obtain information if possible. "Aid would be greatly appreciated, thank you," she replied graciously. Cassia could see the scout tense as she spoke those words, but perhaps the knight needed to learn humility.

"I will return shortly to help you, but I must go see father first," the girl said before hurrying out of the small hut.

Once she was gone, Tristan spoke, "I will not be tended by a Woad." Cassia did not reply or even acknowledge that she heard him as she began to assess his injuries. None were terribly threatening. He was only immobile because of the bruises and arrow, but he would be fine in a matter of days. The arrow, once removed, would heal quickly because it was rather shallow since it just skimmed the bone. His ankle was the only thing that would continue to plague him, but he was still very lucky.

Cassia sighed as she prepared to tend the man she despised most in this world. She knew she was a fool simply because after all he had done and said to her, she could still not bring herself to hate him enough to ignore him when he suffered. Instead, she was compelled to aid him if he was hurt, even if she refused to speak to him during the process.

XxX

That one didn't take as long to post as the last one, thankfully. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Don't hate Tristan too much because from here out he'll **try** to play nice. Thank you to everyone who continues to follow this story, and a special thanks to everyone who reviews. Your input is always welcome and appreciated.


	32. Understanding comes too late

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own characters.**

Chapter 32 Understanding comes too Late

When the young Woad returned, Cassia had already removed Tristan's tunic and boots, leaving him only in a pair of worn breeches. The nights were becoming colder, and Cassia wished to work quickly so that Tristan would not be exposed to the frigid air. The sun was setting rapidly, and Cassia knew that with every hour that passed there was less and less chance of rescue.

"What must I do," the girl asked dutifully as she approached the two prisoners.

"Do you know how to make a numbing tea," Cassia asked as she cleaned the dirt from the scout's body with gentle ministrations.

"I am not a healer," the brunette said with almost with pride.

Cassia deduced from her garb and the way she held herself, that she was either a warrior or royalty, or both. "Then take this cloth and clean him and his wounds while I make the tea for him," Cassia said calmly. The girl nodded and took the cloth, dipped it in the basin, and began to wash the scout's naked torso.

Tristan, who had been lulled into a light sleep by Cassia's gentle touch, nearly gasped at the harsh contrast in the Woad's technique. The young girl was obviously a warrior just because of her rough treatment of his body. She was not careful with his broken ribs, and Tristan found himself involuntarily recoiling.

Cassia looked up from where she was mixing herbs and pastes, when she heard a pained hiss and a frustrated sigh. "You must be gentle. He has three broken ribs, if you put pressure on them, he is likely to recoil or thrash," Cassia informed as motherly as she could.

"Maybe if he hadn't attacked us, he wouldn't have broken ribs," the girl said petulantly.

"He attacked no one who did not attack him first," Cassia said sternly, hoping that her obvious age over the girl would deter her from continuing.

"Either way, he has killed many of us for what cause… Rome?" The young Woad's large brown eyes were bright with fury, and Cassia could see passion with which she fought. The girl believed in her cause, but she was still to young to understand that others were not so lucky to be able to choose their purpose as she.

"Perhaps a man needs no more cause than the will to live," Cassia spoke sagely as she finished brewing the tea. "I have seen men and women do very terrible things for far baser reasons than survival."

"What would you know of such things? You are probably just another stuck up noble that comes here for an adventure with her good for nothing husband," the girl said angrily as Cassia sat beside her, removing her hand from the scout's chest.

"I have witnessed a slave beaten for little more than being loyal to her master… I have seen a woman nearly raped simply because she was an easy target… I have seen a lady constantly tormented simply for living," Cassia said emotionlessly. "I may have lived a far more sheltered existence than you, milady, but age brings experience and experience breeds either wisdom or contempt. My experience has bred both," Cassia stated coldly as she gently moved the hair out of Tristan's face.

The scout opened his eye a slit at Cassia's gentle touch. "I have a tea for you if you can drink it," she said with a hint of anger still brewing toward the scout. Tristan nodded, and Cassia positioned herself so that she could place his head in her lap once again. "The bowl," Cassia said as she pointed to a small clay bowl behind the girl. The Woad handed it to her silently, and Cassia slowly let the scout sip until it was empty. When he was finished, Cassia spoke patiently. "We must remove the arrow head, now. Will you be able to breathe if we roll you on your side?"

Tristan nodded drowsily in answer. Cassia took his shoulders and motioned for the girl to take his hips. The young girl grasped the scout's hips being careful of the arrow protruding from his flesh. Cassia placed a rolled up cloak under the scout's head before moving to the girl's side.

"What is your name, lass," Cassia asked as she tore the fabric surrounding the arrow's broken shaft.

"Guinevere, and yours," the girl said proudly.

"Cassia and this is Tristan," Cassia replied as she motioned to the scout.

"He is one of the knights from the great wall, is he not," she asked the elder woman. "My father used to tell me stories of them," Guinevere said with a hint of excitement replacing her earlier irritation.

"It is best not to believe all that you hear," Cassia said as she took hold of the shaft. She then pulled with all her strength, heaving the arrow from the scout's flesh. Tristan barely held back a scream, but Cassia ignored him as she spoke to Guinevere. "So, what shall our fate be for being captured," she asked casually as she staunched the renewed bleeding in Tristan's hip.

"My father has yet to decide, but the elders will call for execution," Guinevere spoke honestly as she watched Cassia work. "I'm sorry. You do not seem like a terrible person, but you were found with him," she said solemnly.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Guinevere. War kills many who are not part of it. It is the cost of fighting for what you believe," Cassia said as she absently stroked Tristan's back with her free hand. "Do you have a dagger or spearhead that I can cauterize the wound with," she asked as she watched the scout breathe evenly once again.

"I cannot give you a weapon," Guinevere said firmly. Her previous calm was once again replaced by her edgy intensity.

"Then you can be the one to do it, but the wound must be closed," Cassia reasoned, ignoring the girl's nerves. Guinevere thought about the idea for a moment before nodding and disappearing out of the hut. She returned after a minute, carrying one of Tristan's own daggers. She tossed the leather sheath to Cassia who coaxed it between the scout's teeth, being careful of his swollen jaw.

Guinevere heated the blade over the small fire in the corner of the hut, while Cassia gently pulled Tristan into her lap. Guinevere approached the two, carrying the red blade, and held the scout's hip as she firmly placed the dagger to it. Tristan thrashed in Cassia's tight embrace, but Guinevere carefully held the blade to the wound for several seconds.

Tristan was panting when the blade was removed, and Cassia removed the sheathed before giving him some water. "Thank you for your aid, Guinevere," Cassia said calmly. The girl nodded before she took the dagger and went to leave the hut.

"I will return to tell you their decision," Guinevere said before disappearing out the doorway.

Cassia silently applied a salve she had concocted, as she watched Guinevere exit the hut. Tristan found no reason to break the silence as she worked. He already knew what fate would be chosen for them, and he saw no reason to torment the woman with the explicit knowledge. They both had many things on their minds, none of which were pleasant. Regret was a feeling seeping into both of their angry hearts.

Cassia finished with the scout's wounds and was quietly rearranging the healing jars when she finally broke the silence. "What will they do to us? Are they just going to kill us because we are alive," she asked in a whisper. Her long hair hung in her face veiling her glistening brown eyes.

"Not because we are alive, but because we live here and threaten their existence," Tristan replied coolly as he carefully rolled onto his back and weakly pulled himself against the wall to sit up slightly.

"So they will kill us without a second thought," she said disgustedly as she sat beside Tristan forgetting the troubles between them.

"They will kill me for certain, but they may spare you if you do nothing to offend them," Tristan replied as though he was content with his own fate.

"Nothing to offend them? My existence offends them. I am a Roman," she said bluntly. "After all, I'm the reason we were running though the forest in the middle of the night. You were right all along, it seems," Cassia paused dejectedly, "I am a waste that hurts everyone I touch. If I had just followed orders from the beginning, none of this would have happened. I would probably have your sword and you would be lying with an arrow in your back, in the middle of the forest."

"Quiet your chatter, woman," Tristan growled sternly. "We are going to die, and no matter how much you worry it will change nothing. Salvage what little dignity you have left and accept it." Tristan's words were not harsh but true as most of his terse statements were. "We all have things that we regret, but now is not the time to worry over them."

"What could the coldhearted Tristan possibly regret," Cassia asked mockingly as she wiped several tears out of her eyes with a shaky hand that was still covered in Tristan's blood.

"Plenty," he said vaguely and would have left it at that had Cassia not rolled her eyes. Tristan sighed as he searched for the words that had eluded him his entire life. "I regret that Dinadan died before me… saving me. I regret that I didn't pull him down with me as the Woad threw the blade. I regret that I neglected Percival who helped me through my own troubles, but I was too blind to help him with his. I-I regret that I ever hit you or tied you up. I regret that I told you all those terrible things that you didn't deserve to hear," Tristan finished in barely a whisper. "Are you happy now? The silent and heartless scout is human after all."

"No… as you said before, I don't take pleasure in others pain. If it makes any difference, I regret stealing your blade," Cassia said as she inched closer to the injured knight.

"What difference does it make, the Woads have it now," Tristan groaned in dismissal.

"May I speak freely, sir," Cassia asked cautiously as she played with the tattered ends of her dress. The scout just nodded in reply, signaling for her to continue. "Do you remember that day that you sat with me while I worked, and we asked each other a question?" Tristan simply nodded once again. "I asked you about your scars instead of what I had meant to, and you said you would answer another question," Cassia continued slowly.

"Just ask, Cassia," Tristan said her name civilly for the first time in three months. Cassia just looked at him with respect for a moment before continuing. She had forgotten what her name sounded like with his distinct accent that made it sound so foreign yet familiar at the same time.

"I heard you mumbling a name when I tended you after the Woads captured me, then you mumbled it in your sleep at the fort, and even during… with Rena. You always call out to Isolde," Cassia said as gently as she could.

"Just another regret, Cassia," Tristan said nostalgically.

"Why is she a regret… who is she," Cassia asked confusedly.

"She is not the regret, never a regret… she was the reason I have the scars you had asked about. She is the reason I am with Arthur now, as well as the reason I shall never return home… the reason I have nightmares, the reason I dread these forests," Tristan said with a hint of sadness creeping into his otherwise unreadable face. "She is the reason for everything, both good and eventually bad in my life. She was my lover, my betrothed. Isolde was the healer at Eboracum, my previous fort," Tristan began his sordid tale of love and all the trouble it had caused him.

"Isolde was the most beautiful woman I had ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes upon because it only led to torment," he paused a moment before continuing with the story he had only ever told to Dinadan. "Iz had long curly red locks that fell all the way to the small of her back. She refused to tie it back, so it would flow in the breeze as she ran. She had the most brilliant green eyes that could peer straight into your soul. She had a smile that would have put, Venus is it, to shame," he said wistfully. Cassia just nodded with a smile playing at her lips. She had never heard the scout say so much, and she would have thought it impossible for him to speak so fondly had she not heard it herself.

"I was the only Sarmatian left in the fort after only four years of service. Twenty men had dwindled to one. Some had even been beaten to by our commander Gaius, who we had called Decimus for his fondness for the outlawed practice of decimation. I was basically beaten when he became bored, simply because I was still alive, and that was only because I was their sole scout. I visited Isolde quite often with various injuries.

"She had been attacked by a Roman soldier and fell pregnant, so I had promised to watch over her. We were very fond of each other, and became lovers," Tristan continued to tell her everything about Isolde that he could remember for several hours. He didn't even care that he was telling her all the things that he had kept a secret for years. Tristan didn't want to die with her condemning the man he had become without understanding the man he was once.

"When Rosheen was born, Isolde insisted upon the name because she loved roses. I told her she was just crazy from just giving birth, but she said "Rosheen" and the babe seemed to like it. She was the image of her mother even in infancy, red fuzz on her head to offset her brilliant green orbs. I tried to be a father to her as best I could. I was never a terribly affectionate person, but I did all I could for her. She was several months old when Iz was threatened by a Roman. I should have murdered him then, but I would have been killed on the spot if I had tried anything. A month passed and nothing happened when Isolde told me a secret that I never had the chance to tell anyone," Tristan paused thoughtfully.

"We were by the ocean once again. She had wanted to see it with Rosheen. As we sat after the babe was fed and asleep against he breast, Isolde turned to me. She whispered ever so lightly in my ear that she was with child once again," Tristan said as his fingers hovered over his right ear as though it had just happened. "Only this time it was my child that grew within her womb. And as much as I loved Rosheen, to know that you have created something so beautiful is amazing," Tristan said with a sad smile. Cassia never believed that the scout would have wanted children, but to hear him talk about them was beautiful and heart wrenching at the same time.

"Another month passed and I was watching Rosheen while Isolde was in the healing rooms tending an injured soldier. I had a mission in the morning and was frustrated, so when Isolde returned from amputating the poor man's leg, we argued. I still remember the fight vividly. I left her, still angry, without so much as a goodbye. That was the last time I ever saw her alive," Tristan stopped to rein in his emotions.

"The soldier that had harassed her found her and raped her. Afterwards, she took her own life with my blade. It was a ceremonial dagger that my village had given me before I was taken. I died with her that day.

"The commander blamed the death on me, but I am the only person who knows why she took her own life," Tristan choked. "I was arrested and beaten when I returned from her grave. I do not even know what became of Rosheen. She could be beside her mother or living with the commander himself for all I know. Perhaps it is better this way. I would have made a terrible father."

Cassia could not believe what she saw before her. Tristan was barely controlling his emotions as he told her his tragic history. "Why did she take her own life," Cassia asked softly as she gently touched his fisted hand.

"She lost the child. After Rosheen was born, Isolde's health was precarious at best. When we found that she was with child, we barely touched each other for fear of the child's safety. He beat her before he raped her, there was no chance that the child, my child, survived. She took her life because she thought she could never give me what I wanted, but all I ever wanted was her. I never asked her for anything but her heart, but I lost even that," Tristan went silent for several minutes before he spoke once again, this time emotionlessly. "I shall never leave this island like the others wish to because part of me is already buried here, and I shall not leave her alone…So there you have my sordid story. Maybe now, I am less of a mystery to you."

Cassia was silent as the scout finished. She now understood why he was cold and even cruel. He was a man with nothing but death keeping him alive, all he could do now was kill those who had hurt him.

"I never told anyone about Isolde other than Dinadan. But soon everyone shall know of it once they enter Eboracum. That was the news that drove me to Rena, not to punish or embarrass you," he said regretfully.

"We are headed toward your previous fort," Cassia asked in a shocked and worried voice.

"Tis funny… my contingent left me in this forest to be killed by the Woads, but Dinadan found me and saved me. Now I come back, and I shall be killed by those who failed the first time," Tristan said without humor. "At least the company is tolerable."

"You speak as though we are friends. Can you put aside you hatred of me so easily as to forget all we have done to each other. I stole your sword after all," Cassia asked genuinely curious.

"The blade was a gift from Dinadan, the man who saved me. It is irreplaceable because it was forged for an Eastern lord out of the finest of materials, and Dan gave it to me out of friendship. But that is not the reason for my actions," Tristan said becoming drowsy from the strain of his injuries.

"Then what is it that makes you despise me if not for that," Cassia asked as she finally understood the value of the blade both in Tristan and the Roman's eyes.

"Your loyalty to your husband," Tristan said what a groan of pain as the tea began to wear off.

Cassia looked confused as she went to heat more water to brew another tea with. "Since when was loyalty a detestable quality," she asked with a hint of laughter. There was no point in anger now since they had precious little time left for anything but reflection.

"From everything that you have said of him, he was a deceitful bastard. He may have loved you at first, but he saw your loyal nature and used it to his advantage. He gambled and stole, came home and used you as a warm body to do with as he pleased, and went out to probably do the same with another as well. I have seen men such as he, but the fact that you were either too naïve to see it or chose not to is what I hate. The man received the world from you and wasted it. You would have accepted him no matter what, and still he chose to lie. You even sacrificed your own dignity and honor even after you found out his lies. I never hated you Cassia, but disgust is all I can feel for the man you chose to love," Tristan said as Cassia once again sat beside him with the tea in hand. "You frighten me… because you remind me so much of Isolde. The way you let your hair fall freely, the way your eyes show what you are feeling so vividly, the way you smile, all remind me of her. The way your husband didn't appreciate you only reminded me constantly that I did not appreciate all that Isolde gave to me… until it was too late."

Lifting his head to drink, Cassia spoke solemnly. "You are right. I chose to love him, and no matter his faults and lies I cannot hate him, even now, and I doubt that this Isolde would be able to hate you. You were nothing but good to her, while Marcus did nothing to warrant my love, but I still do. I was married to him for six years and when he died, I barely knew him. I was only your age when I became a widow. I was constantly under attack because I never bore him any children, but I believe the gods know better than we, who should and should not raise another. I had become with child shortly after we were wed, but I fell ill not four months later. I lost the child and quite possibly the ability to have another. I was distraught, but I believed that the gods took it from me for a reason. Perhaps Marcus' deceit was the reason," Cassia said with a hint of her own pain. "I did, however, practically raise my sister's son because she was too busy to do so, doing what, I shall never know. I was disowned by my family when I left to come here, so I too shall never know what became of my efforts," she paused as she eased his head once again into her lap. Tristan sighed as he let his eyelids droop.

"Some of us are born to help others but never receive the satisfaction of knowing if we succeeded. All we can do is hope that our efforts were not wasted and to not waste the efforts of another," Cassia finished as she watched Tristan's breathing even out in sleep. Tristan had heard her last comments as he fell into a drug induced sleep. He carried those words with him as his dreams and possibly nightmares found him. "We are alike Tristan. It is just sad that we did not understand it until it was too late," Cassia whispered as she leant forward to place a delicate kiss upon his brow.

XxX

I really hope you liked this chapter. This is the beginning of the final stretch of the story, so there are only about five chapters left after this. Thank you to everyone who reviewed that last chapter, it was greatly appreciated.

Please tell me what you thought of this chapter. Your reviews are always helpful and inspiring to me.


	33. Redemption through Sacrifice

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing that you recognize.**

Chapter 33 Redemption through Sacrifice

_Isolde sat beside a shallow river with her skirts rolled up to keep her from wetting the thin fabric. Her belly was round and beautiful with child, and Tristan moved swiftly to her side._

"_You have returned to me," she said with a bright smile._

"_I always do, don't I," Tristan asked gently as he took her into his arms._

"_You do, but the number of pieces varies," Isolde laughed as he flicked her nose in reprimand. "Yes you always return, my love… Promise me that you shall always return to me and if I am no longer here, return to my child," she said as she rubbed her swollen stomach._

"_You needn't even ask, for I will never leave you, and if I must I shall return as soon as I can, no matter what happens," Tristan assured her with a passionate kiss that only ended when Isolde pulled out of his embrace._

"_What if I do not live to see my child grow? I cannot expect you to raise a child that is not your own. What if I don't live to see if he or she is alright," Isolde asked with deep worry for she knew the type of men that she was at the mercy of._

"_Sometimes we just have to hope that our efforts are not wasted, but I shall always be here for them because if they are part of you then they are a part of me," Tristan whispered in her ear as he embraced her from behind once again and trailed light kisses down her neck and shoulder blades. _

Cassia sat silently twisting her fingers through Tristan's hair as he slept. He had been asleep for nearly three hours, and he had yet to toss or turn once. It seemed that he was most at peace when he faced imminent death.

In her time examining the scout, she finally understood his disgust for her husband. Marcus had been nothing but a bastard to her, but she was will to even disgrace herself for him. Tristan had loved Isolde with his entire being. He would have given anything for her to be happy, and she took her own life leaving him with nothing. Tristan was not a jealous man, but he was not one to forgive such behavior. Tristan was a noble soul after all, Cassia realized, and her own husband was no better than the men that forced her to destroy her own dignity.

The longer Cassia sat there, the more she thought about Tristan's story. Though her own existence was not an enviable one, Tristan's was torture in itself. Any love or family the man ever possessed was torn from him without reason, or at least good reason. Tristan had not been the greatest of masters, but he had never broken a promise that he made to her. She thought about the number of times the Romans had come onto her, and he had stopped them immediately even if they had offered him good coin for her. She was always well fed, and if he was away and a maid happened to neglect to feed her, Tristan always dealt with the woman personally. She also noticed how he avoided Vanora's children if he could, and he never responded to any of the many women who tried to ply their trade with him. He took whores, but it was not for the pleasure that Lancelot or even Gawain sought from it. Tristan just needed a release from time to time. Tristan was not as cold hearted as he first seemed, he simply avoided what reminded him of the past. For that, she could not blame him.

As Cassia continued to think about all that had been revealed this night, Guinevere entered the hut carrying a tray of food. "I thought you would be starving by now," the young Woad said with a meager smile. "It's only bread and various fruit and nuts, but the hunt barely fed us this night.

"It is fine, thank you Guinevere," Cassia said gratefully. "Will you sit with me?" The girl nodded and sat to join Cassia in her meager meal. The pair ate in silence, both just grateful for the company. As Cassia ate, she could not get the scout out of her head. He had nearly sacrificed his life for her, even though she was nothing more than his slave. The more she thought, the less of an appetite she had until she finally spoke. "Guinevere, do you think that it would be possible for me to speak with your leader? I know that I am a prisoner, but I wish to make him an offer," Cassia said shyly.

"I can ask him, I do not think he would be opposed since you have done nothing to warrant our mistrust like the scout has… wait a moment. I shall ask him," Guinevere said as she rose without even knowing Cassia's reason for wishing to speak with the leader. Several minutes later, she returned with some rope in hand. "He will see you, but you must be bound in order to leave the hut," she said as she took Cassia's already shackled wrists. "What are these from? The designs within the metal are of Celtic origin," Guinevere said as she admired each cuff, not really paying attention their true purpose.

"They are to remind me that I am always a servant, never a master. It is best that way, to always know one's place," Cassia answered calmly as her gaze wandered over to where the scout lay unconscious. Guinevere nodded and then bound Cassia's wrists gently.

"Do you know what these symbols mean?"

"I did not know that they meant anything, just simply adornments," Cassia said confusedly.

"Well, this is a symbol of honor, and this stands for courage. These are symbols or virtues of a great warrior," Guinevere said as she held one wrist before moving to the other. "These are not Celtic, but another land's symbols. Perhaps that of the maker… he must have thought highly of you to bestow upon you such a gift," Guinevere said almost in awe.

Cassia looked confused. Tristan had put such symbols on her shackles even before he knew of her history. She couldn't understand why he would put such beautiful markings on the bindings of a slave. Cassia brushed it off for the time being and followed Guinevere to meet her leader. As they walked through the camp, they were stared at by all that they passed. "Ignore them," Guinevere said as they came upon a hut at the outskirts of the camp. "Father," Guinevere called before a tall and weathered looking Woad appeared from the hut.

"I see you have brought me the Roman… Come in, there is no need for the entire camp to know our business," he said as he disappeared back into the hut. Guinevere just pushed Cassia toward the entrance and then sat herself before the fire outside the hut.

"Sit… we have much to discuss, don't we," the Woad leader said graciously as he motioned for Cassia to take a mat from beside the fire. The hut was dark even with a fire blazing. All Cassia could see were jars and parchment. She looked at the great Woad before her, and was in awe of his presence. "You have met my daughter, I see," he said with a small smile.

"So she is royalty," Cassia said in an equally flat tone as she gazed into his dark eyes.

"I am surprised that you noticed. You are more perceptive than the other Romans I have met," he said appreciatively. "I am Merlin, and you are Cassia Faustus of Rome. Tis ironic that neither name suits you."

"How so," Cassia asked a bit taken aback.

"You are neither vain nor lucky or else you would not be here, to ask of me what you will," he said with great wisdom.

"I was once vain, sir, and I hope one day to be considered lucky. So perhaps my name is not too far from the truth. I have come to speak of what shall be done to both Tristan and I," Cassia said losing her gentle acceptance of his wisdom.

"He must have succumbed to his wounds for you to have left him," Merlin spoke as he left the light to some where within the shadows of the large hut.

"Yes, he does sleep," Cassia confirmed then paused for a moment before continuing with certainty. "I will not waste both our time with idle chatter, yours because it is important, and mine because there is so little of it left. I have come to ask if you have decided upon our fates."

"I have," Merlin said without answer.

"Then you shall torment me no longer. I wish to know what you have decided," she said with a weak conviction.

"You know very well that the scout's fate was decided even before you reached our camp. The only reason he still lives is because you shielded him with you own body. You, however, have shown naught but compassion even to my daughter who was your keeper. I have been able to persuade the elders that your life is more valuable unharmed. So perhaps, you are correct; your luck has not run dry," Merlin said with a faint smile playing on his lips. "Is there anything else I may do for you, Cassia? You shall be released at dawn, before he is executed so that you need not witness it," Merlin assured her due to her continued silence.

"Yes… I came to ask you to take my life instead of his," she said with a hint of emotion hiding in her voice.

"You are offering you life for his," Merlin asked actually shocked, for possibly the first time in his existence, simply by her offer. "But you are useless to us, where as he is a Sarmatian knight. Why could you possibly wish to sacrifice you life for a man who is half dead already?"

Cassia chose her words carefully because she knew that Merlin would be able to detect if she was lying. "I offer myself because he has done so for me on numerous occasions. As for worth, he is merely a knight, dispensable in Rome's eyes. His first commander nearly did the job for you. I, however, am a citizen of Rome, a daughter to a prominent family and sister-in-law to a senator. My family is known throughout the city. Tristan was little more than my protector in these lands. Had I not been angered by him and run off, we would not be in this situation," she said with the cold dignity that she had learned long ago from her mother.

Merlin looked at Cassia sternly and tried to see her lies, but he could sense none in her speech. "It is not so simple, Cassia," he said regretfully. "Arthur's knights have killed many of my good men and women. They have been the only force keeping us above the Wall. You are simply a spoilt Roman, who has found herself in the wrong place and with the wrong company," his words were not unkind, but it hurt to hear them none the less.

"I am useless even to you," Cassia said sardonically. "Then hear this, Merlin. You choose to kill a man who is no more endeared toward Romans than yourself. A man who has had every love in his life taken from him by Rome, a man that would sooner kill the emperor than you but is enslaved to do not his own bidding but another's. A man whose only friends are a strong sword, swift bow, and faithful hawk this is perched above his hut even now. Merlin, if I am useless to your cause then surely Tristan's death will only make you hypocrites such as the Romans you wish to defeat. He has killed no one who would not have done the same to him," Cassia spoke with a pleading waver in her voice.

"You must care for this man a great deal to offer yourself so adamantly in his place," Merlin reasoned with understanding.

"I have seen the worst of humanity everywhere I have traveled. I was even part of it, for a time. I was married to a man who was deceitful to the very core. I was the daughter of a woman who would sooner abuse me than show me any sort of affection. I was the sister of a woman who was as black hearted and poisonous as an asp, with a husband who matched. Though Tristan is not the most passionate person I have ever encountered, or even the kindest, he is the most honorable even if he does not see it in himself. I have stolen from him, enraged him, wrongfully accused him, and still he came to protect me against certain death. I have done many wrongs in my life, but I shall not be responsible for the death of a man such as him. So I beg you to spare him. He would not have allowed me to do this for his sake, but I cannot return to his brothers and tell them that he is dead because of me. You may do anything to me. String me to Hadrian's Wall for all to see if you truly wish, but don't kill him. The Romans will be far more outraged if one of their own is lost than simply another Sarmatian," Cassia finished nearly in tears.

Merlin was silent for several moments as he watched the weary roman woman worry her frayed gown. "You are a passionate woman. I must say that you have surprised me, that in itself is not an easy feat to accomplish. For your passion and sincerity, I shall speak to the elders on your behalf," Merlin decided then appeared next to Cassia to aid her to rise from the floor. "Return to your hut, check on the man you have offered your life for, and I will send Guinevere to fetch you when we have made our decision. If you promise that you shall attempt nothing, I shall remove your bindings," Merlin assured her as they stood.

"I have nowhere to go, sir. I may be a fool, but I am not foolish," Cassia said with renewed composure.

"Very well then," he said as he cut the ropes around her fragile wrists. "You are shackled for what reason," he asked as they moved toward the entrance of the hut.

Cassia turned to him, knowing that lying now would do her no good. "I stole from him a blade that was very close to his heart. I nearly caused his death because of it, so now I wear these to remind me of my betters. I am naught but a thief among heroes at the fort, unlike in Rome. I would never have sacrificed my life for one who stole from me. So I am constantly reminded of my mistakes, such as a scar would," Cassia whispered with sincerity.

"You say you would not sacrifice yourself for one who stole from you, but is that not what you are doing now? Did the scout not steal your freedom from you, or are shackles fashionable in Rome," Merlin asked as they left the hut.

"I forfeited my own freedom long before I met Tristan. I bear responsibility for my own actions, but thank you Merlin. I hope that you will consider my offer well," Cassia answered as she walked up to Guinevere who smiled at her kindly.

"You are free to go," Guinevere asked as they walked back to the hut.

"Not yet," Cassia replied as she entered her prison. Tristan still lay unconscious with his head pillowed on her cloak. He was tossing only a little, and she figured it was probably due to the lack of heat within the small hut. Silently, she knelt beside him to check each of his wounds. She changed the bandage over his hip then re-clothed him in his heavy tunic and boots, for warmth. After that, she moved the hair out of his face and removed the cloak from beneath his head, so she could pull his head into her lap. Cassia placed the cloak over Tristan like a blanket then relaxed with his head pillowed in her lap. He stopped moving and fell once again into a peaceful and healing sleep.

"Perhaps I am of use, Tristan, just not the one you intended me for," she said before lapsing into a contented silence for a long time, just watching the fire burn only feet away.

It was nearly dawn when Guinevere came to the hut with Merlin in tow. The un-risen sun was already scaring the stars away with her early glow. Cassia lay beside the injured scout sharing the warm cloak between them. They were peacefully sharing each other's warmth as Merlin entered.

"Cassia," he said in barely a whisper, but Cassia was awake as soon as he spoke. She quickly removed herself from the tangle, careful not to rouse the scout, before sitting in front of Merlin. "You must have drugged him strongly for one such as he not to wake at the intrusion," Merlin said appreciatively.

"You learn many different 'remedies' for consciousness when you are a thief," Cassia replied slyly.

"I suppose you would," Merlin said as he took a good look at the scout. "I do not understand what drives you to protect him, even now."

"Perhaps what I see is not visible to the naked eye, but can only be seen in time," Cassia replied as she too looked at the recovering scout.

"Maybe it is best that he is not awake to hear this, if he is as honorable as you claim him to be," Merlin said with a weary sigh. "We have taken council over your appeal, and we have come to an agreement," Merlin paused a moment before continuing. "We have decided that you may take the scout's place, but you must understand that he may be killed in battle or out scouting. If that were to happen, all of this would be for nothing. Are you so ready to give your life for a man who won't live long enough to leave this isle," Merlin asked concernedly.

Cassia smiled as she answered, "Sometimes we just have to hope that our efforts are not wasted because there is little else we can do."

"You are wise beyond your years, lady. I will leave you a moment to prepare him for travel before my guards take him to the forest near the fort that the others arrived at last evening. Once he is gone, you may move about the camp freely until we decide upon your fate," with that said Merlin took his leave. Cassia sat for a moment staring at the unconscious scout. Once again Cassia noticed how much younger the man looked in sleep. It only succeeded in making Cassia feel even older than her years let on. As she watched him sleep, she remembered the first time she had ever seen the scout.

_It was early winter, and the snow was just beginning to mount on the cooling earth. Cassia had walked the better part of two days getting to this fort, and now all she wanted was a warm bath to melt away her fatigue. Sadly, she had a mission to begin which involved a certain knight who resided here._

_Upon arrival at a far outpost along Hadrian's Wall, she quickly looked for a room to stay in. As she passed the stable, she saw a lone lantern still glowing. Cassia curiously ventured closer to the stable doors only to see a lone figure seated beneath the dim light._

_Quickly, Cassia moved to the back of the barn and entered through a small window in the storage room. From there she found her way into the rafters of the stable; where she listened to the darkly hooded man speak softly to his horse, and a hawk he had perched on his wrist._

"_You have a good hunt tonight, eh," the cloaked man cooed to the bird. "I had a good hunt as well. Killed many Woads tonight, Dinadan would be proud, eh? Two years it's been today and still the ground freezes for him. Maybe it just taunts him as it does me, but you don't care do you? You just want to be fed," the man said before blowing out the lantern and sitting quietly in the stall with his grey steed. "I hope you don't mind but you're all I have, and I don't wish to spend this night alone."_

Cassia paused as she remembered that night nearly a year ago to the day. That meant that Dinadan had died just around this time three years ago. Cassia found her heart bleeding for a man she despised not a day before.

Several minutes later, Merlin's guards returned and lifted the now cloaked Tristan before silently leaving the hut. They moved swiftly but carefully so as not to wake him. Within several hours, the small party reached a clearing not far from the fort at Eboracum. Gently, the two Woads carrying the scout placed him on the ground and the third who carried his weapons laid them beside him. Then once the scout was settled, the three Woads disappeared back into the dark shadows of the forest. Meanwhile, Cassia sat praying to whatever gods that would listen, that Tristan would take his freedom without looking back.

XxX

Thank you to everyone who read the last chapter as well as those you reviewed. For those of you who are wondering, yes there will probably be a sequel to this. I hope that you are still enjoying this story, and please continue to let me know what you think because it is much appreciated.


	34. Going Back

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

Chapter 34: Going Back

"Arthur, we cannot just leave them out there. Tristan is the best scout this wretched island has ever seen. Is that not reason enough to make sure he is safe," Lancelot said angrily as the group rode swiftly through the forest.

"Lancelot, I told you that we are unprepared to rescue Tristan and Cassia from any significant enemy. We are here because of a large Woad threat. We cannot help Tristan if we are not equipped ourselves," Arthur replied with reason.

"Every moment we waste, there is less chance of finding either of them alive. Tristan wouldn't have left one of us out there to be tortured and killed by Woads. When Percival was killed, Tristan didn't wait for us in order to go find him," Galahad said with fury lacing his words.

"None of us are Tristan, or perhaps I wouldn't be so wary of running into trouble. When one of you can slip into a camp of forty Woads, undetected and kill ten before anyone realizes something is amiss, you can come back and ask me to find him. But right now, our best option is to continue to the fort, then we can go back for them when our horses are rested as well as ourselves," Arthur tried to make his men understand his reasoning.

"What of the lass. She can't very well fend off an entire camp of those beasts," Bors said loudly. "Vanora will kill me if anything happens to the woman."

"Tristan will protect her," Arthur said in frustration.

"Yeah, because he's done such a great job of that these past few months," Gawain said sarcastically. "Who's to say he even found her or hasn't killed her himself?"

"If we are going to start questioning Tristan's tracking ability now, we might as well just fall upon our own blades because we won't survive very long without him," Dagonet spoke as the voice of reason. "Tristan will protect Cassia with his own life if need be. You may be angry with him, Gawain, but you know that he would give his life for another far more readily than even yourself. He may have been weak when we met him, but Tristan is far more capable of looking after himself than any of us," Dagonet said with finality.

"Men, the sooner we arrive at Eboracum, the sooner we can look for Tristan and Cassia," Arthur announced as he kicked his horse into a gallop. The others followed suit and found themselves at the gates of Eboracum just before nightfall. The wrought iron gates opened easily as the weary group passed through. In the courtyard stood the fort's commander in full roman armor.

"Arthur you have finally made it," the dark looking Roman said. "Tis so good to see you again. I hope you have been well. It has been nearly five years since we last met, has it not?"

"It is good to see you again Commander Gaius," Arthur said jovially, though just seeing the man made Arthur sick.

"And these must be your famed Sarmatian knights," Gaius said as he examined the weary group. "I do not see our contribution to your ranks though. Did he not survive the journey," the man said with a raise of his wicked brow.

"He was in full health the last time I saw him, commander, but a scout's place is in the wilderness is it not," Arthur retorted with false assurance.

"Yes, yes. You are certainly correct. Septimus was little good if not for his scouting," Gaius said regretfully. "But you must be exhausted, Arthur. There are rooms for you at the inn. I am sorry that there are no rooms available in the soldiers' quarters, but we were just sent a new batch of men. I hope you do not mind the inconvenience," the commander's words bled insincerity as he motioned for a soldier to guide them to their quarters while the stable hands took their horses.

"Who is Septimus, Arthur, and how do you know that man," Lancelot asked bluntly as they were left in their rooms. Lancelot was seething not only from the commanders attitude, but because of the disrespect he showed Arthur by placing him in the in with his men. Arthur might not have minded, but he was a commander himself, and deserved the respect that came with it.

"Septimus was what Tristan was referred to as while serving here. Each knight was given a number upon arrival that they were known as because the Romans were to lazy to learn their names. Tristan's was seven," Arthur informed Lancelot with a grave attitude. "I know Gaius because when Dinadan brought Tristan to us, he was technically still under Gaius' command. I had to come here and basically buy Tristan from them, or else he would have been labeled a deserter and hunted. I paid Gaius nearly two hundred denari and promised aid anytime he needed it in order to get Tristan's transfer," Arthur confessed dejectedly.

"Arthur, what you are saying is madness… I thought that Tristan's contingent was killed and that is why he was in such condition and we enlisted him. What are you trying to tell me," Lancelot asked in disbelief.

"Tristan's contingent was massacred, but not by Woads. Lancelot, you must swear to me that you shall never tell the others of what I am about to tell you. Only Dagonet and Dinadan actually knew what truly happened to Tristan," Arthur paused.

"You have my word, Arthur. Just finish what you started," Lancelot promised impatiently.

"Gaius is one of the bloodiest Romans on this island. He has been known to flog his men nearly to death for useless reasons. Tristan was the last of his band of Sarmatians alive after only four years of service. Because of this Gaius let Tristan feel the brunt of his wrath. I do not know the entire story because Tristan refused to tell anyone. Even Dinadan didn't know the entire tale, or at least he didn't let on that he knew it. All I know is that the way we found Tristan was the work of Gaius's men. Tristan is considered a murderer here for the death of a healer and even after five years, I still do not trust Gaius not to try something while we are here. He says we are here to take care of a Woad uprising, but with the legion of new troops waiting for action, I don't trust him," Arthur confessed seriously.

"You mean that his own men put him in that condition for a crime Tristan didn't commit," Lancelot asked incredulously.

"I don't know, Tristan has always refused to speak of what happened to her," Arthur said worriedly.

"It was a she? Bloody right he wouldn't want to talk about it! He probably loved the girl. This is Tristan we are talking about. I know I have always been the first to jibe at him for being cold and deadly, but I know he would never kill anyone who didn't threaten him first. Just look at Cassia. He had reason enough, but he didn't kill her," Lancelot nearly shouted at his commander.

"That is why, I thought it better to arrive without him," Arthur sighed as he seated himself on the cot. "Tristan is probably better off in a forest full of Woads than in this fort. In the morning, we shall get our orders and go searching for the pair of them, but tonight I want everyone on the lookout. I don't want to be taken by surprise," Arthur said as he would an order.

XxXxXxX

It was the warm glow of the sun through the thick canopy of trees that finally woke Tristan from his restful sleep. It took several minutes of semi-consciousness for the scout to coax himself into opening his eyes. His many dreams the previous night had left him, for once, feeling refreshed instead of shaken. Tristan's eyes played games with him as he tried to recall where he was and how he arrived there.

All that Tristan could recall from the past two days was fighting with Cassia, getting captured by Woads, and receiving glares from his slave as she tended his wounds. After that, it was a haze induced by the tea she had given him.

Tristan sat up slowly so as not to irritate any of his injuries. When he took in his surroundings, he found nothing but his armor and weapons. Tristan could not sense another person around, and his hawk which sat perched above him gave no indication of other life. Tristan felt an uncharacteristic pang of worry run through him.

"Cassia," he called in a hoarse rasp. Tristan knew it was of little use but realized that if the Woads had left him, of all people, they would not have taken a slave such as Cassia no matter how irritating she could be. She had either gone ahead to the fort to get help, or she had finally taken her chance to escape his tyrannical rule over her. Tristan couldn't stop himself from feeling guilt and regret over her departure, but he decided that he would search the fort before he came to any conclusions about her disappearance. Tristan rose slowly to his knees before attempting to stand. He was grateful when his ankle didn't buckle beneath his weight. Though he didn't collapse, every step the scout took sent fire once again up his leg. It seemed as though his calf had just healed from the arrow wound and now his ankle was injured.

As Tristan made his slow progress through the underbrush, he found himself wishing that he was back in the Woad camp being tortured to death instead of returning to his previous fort. Isolde had haunted him even before entering the forest, and now Cassia haunted him as well because he knew not where she was. And though the scout had been nothing but cruel to her, she knew more of his history than any of his brothers did.

Tristan had not been looking for it, but Cassia was someone he could find the words to speak to. She held no barrier between them that he could not scale, and she had no trouble breaking down his own wall. Cassia had never feared him or scorned him for his bloodlust as the others and even his brothers had. She had seen the beast and accepted it for what it was, without question or complaint. It had taken Tristan six months to realize it, but Cassia was the closest thing he had to a friend since Dinadan's death. Tristan had Dagonet and even Kay when he needed something, but Cassia was the only one that would simply sit with him or know when silence and company were the only things he needed. But as with most things in his life, Tristan managed to push it away before he could find a proper appreciation for it.

As Tristan followed his hawk out of the forest, he saw the great gates of Eboracum just above the rise of the expanse of hills. Tristan could barely walk as he made his way through the fields that in one direction led to endless forest and in the other led to endless ocean. The gates opened for him as he approached, and Tristan cringed at the beauty that was Fort Eboracum. He had spent many of the best days of his life behind these walls, but now all they did was cage him inside to face his wretched past. No one approached the rugged looking scout who hid beneath Cassia's long cloak, which covered his rediscovered armor and weapons. He could hear the whispers as soon as he entered the gates. The hood of his cloak covered his face, but that didn't stop the gossip from beginning.

Tristan walked through the crowded market without a second thought to people's stares or words. Children ran about freely through the village, and several boys ran past him laughing as they chased a small animal through the streets. Tristan found himself comparing them to Bors' children as he continued. He paid close attention to his surroundings, even though he ignored the people's fascination, just incase he caught a glimpse of Cassia in the market or near the inn.

It was Tristan's keen observation of his surroundings that found him taking notice of several Roman soldiers laughing at a group of children. Tristan disliked children as a principle, but his attention was piqued as he noticed the Romans goading the circle of rowdy adolescents. The children's shouts and taunts only grew as Tristan moved to pass the excited mob. Even the mothers of the children did nothing to break up whatever was happening, but Tristan hoped simply to pass them without incidence so he could find either Arthur or Cassia.

The fates, however, had far different ideas for Tristan's fragile restraint. As Tristan moved to avoid two boys who were rushing to join the crowd, he caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye. It was not the red of blood or battle, but it was the color of rich fire. Tristan found his eyes involuntarily following the flash only to see what the entire commotion was about.

In the center of the mob of children was a small redheaded girl, who was being taunted and pushed around. She was her mother incarnate. Her hair was the color of wildfire, and never tamed back. Her eyes were the color of the Emerald Isles to the west, and her skin was as fair as a spring morn. It was as Tristan paused to take in the beautiful five year old girl, that he heard what was being said.

"Where's our mother," an older boy asked tauntingly.

"Mum said that nobody wanted you," a small girl said from the front of the crowd.

"Nobody wants you," the children began to chant as one boy pushed her into the mud. The Romans began to laugh even harder, but the girl said not a word and let out no cry.

Tristan's body froze as he watched the girl from afar. His mind told him that he would only cause more trouble for the girl if he got involved, but his frozen heart had been too long without those bright eyes in order to walk away.

Tristan began to walk toward the crowd that didn't even notice him as he mercilessly pushed children out of the way. One boy threw a rock toward the girl in the center, but soon found himself suspended in the air by his collar. The boy looked at the cloaked figure before he was tossed viciously into several other children. The mother came running to her crying con before yelling at Tristan.

"You brute, what business for you have picking on my children? Touch him again and my husband will see to it that you don't live long enough to do any harm," the woman shouted furiously.

Tristan ignored her and everything else, but the poor redhead before him. Tristan found himself calling a name he never thought he would call again as he made his way to the center. "Rosheen," his voice was deep and menacing with the thick lilt of his native tongue still present.

"Uh oh," the children said in unison. "Someone is in trouble," the cruel shouts continued until Tristan reached the center and stood above the tiny girl whose face was once again in the dirt. Tristan stood above her looking down as he called her name again.

"Rosheen," he said with a softer, more compassionate tone. When Tristan saw those deep green eyes look up at him in response to her name, he felt his frozen heart melt and the fires of fury take its place. Tristan felt a small stone hit his cloak as he stood there looking at the girl he promised to watch over and protect.

Before anyone in the crowd could react, Tristan's cloak swung to the side and his sword was drawn and pointed at the adolescent who threw the stone. The entire crowd froze as they took in the feral scout. Tristan's armor showed because the front of his cloak was open, and it was still covered in Woad blood. His clothes were tattered and his eyes were wild behind his braids, though they couldn't see them. Even the Romans didn't move, for fear he might unleash his fury upon them.

"You threw a stone," Tristan said darkly. The boy shook his head furiously, trying to place the blame on another, but Tristan stopped him. "I am not daft boy," Tristan growled. "I would not be a scout if I could not tell from which direction I was being attacked," he paused, "Where is your mother, boy?"

"She…she," the boy stammered as he looked at the cloaked figure of the cold scout.

"Speak boy, or perhaps you would rather I force the words out of you," Tristan threatened.

"She's at home with the new babe," the boy said hurriedly.

"Then maybe you should be there helping her like a good son would do," Tristan's words cut straight to the point. "All of you… go. Make yourselves of use or I shall find a use for you," he called to the crowd. The children immediately began to flee. Mothers rushed to pick up little ones and the Romans ran as they realized the danger they were in by standing there.

Dagonet, Bors, Kay, and Lancelot had been coming out of the inn when they saw the cloaked figure make its way through the crowd. "Tristan," Dag pointed out as they stopped.

"It can't be," Lancelot said in shock, "there is not way he made it out on foot."

"If someone was going to, it would be Tris," Kay said knowingly.

"What's he doing with all those kids," Bors asked loudly as they saw him reach the center. "Gods, he unsheathed his sword on that boy," Bors said as he went to stop the scout before Dagonet held him back.

"Only because the boy threw something. Give him a minute Bors, Tristan won't hurt anyone," Dag said calmly.

As they watched the crowds clear, they saw the small redhead that had been being taunted. "He did all that for a tiny lass," Bors asked.

"I thought he hated children," Lancelot said as they hurriedly made their way over to the scout before any guards could.

Tristan looked down at the sweet girl at his feet, who hadn't moved since she was pushed down the final time. "Rosheen," Tristan whispered one last time.

Rosheen looked up at the man above her and began to recall the stories that her aunt would tell her before bed. Rosheen could never fall asleep without a story about her mother and father even as an infant. "Did you come to punish me because nobody wants me," she asked meekly as she futilely tried to wipe the mud off her face with her equally muddy hands.

Tristan knelt before her and took the edge of his cloak in hand. "Here, let me," he said gently as he took the corner of his cloak and wiped the small girl's face and hands with it.

"Aunt Lena said someone would come to rescue me," the little girl whispered as she let the hooded figure tend her filthy hands. As Tristan knelt he was still taller than the young girl, but she did not seem afraid of him in the least. She actually seemed to enjoy his tender ministrations. By this time, the others were standing behind Tristan watching as he spoke to the child.

"Where does your aunt live," Tristan asked even though he knew the way to the woman's hut even after five years.

"She lives just past the market," Rosheen stated proudly.

"Go play," Tristan said as he gave her a small push toward home.

"Do you not want me either," the girl asked as Tristan dismissed her.

"You don't even know who I am," Tristan said but felt sorrow at her words.

"It's okay. The others are right. Nobody would ever want me. Aunt Lena just keeps me because she gets money from a great knight to do it," Rosheen said dejectedly.

"Why wouldn't anyone want you," Tristan asked sternly.

"Because I no good… Magda said I was a bastard so no one would ever want me," the girl said without really understanding a word of it.

"Is that so? Well I'll speak to Lena," Tristan said as he pushed her in the right direction, knowing that anything else would be wasted on her young mind.

XxXxX

I finally got that posted. I am sorry that it took so long, but I was sick a couple days last week so every time I had a chance to write, I opted to take a nap instead. This chapter was actually quite a bit longer, but I cut it in half. So, hopefully I will get the other half out either tonight or tomorrow. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. You are what keep me going. So, please tell me what you thought of this.


	35. Explanations

**Disclaimer: Still I own nothing. **

Chapter 35 (or 34 part 2) Explanations

Once Rosheen was gone, Tristan slowly stood to speak with the others. He just nodded to Dagonet as he hobbled away, not bothering to hide his limp. Dagonet knew that this meant to tell the others anything to keep them from asking questions.

"Where is Arthur," Tristan asked as he tried to look strong and foreboding as usual. Lancelot snickered beneath his breath at the scout's slouched and disheveled figure, and Kay silently moved next to Tristan so the scout could rest some of his weight on the other's shoulders.

"We go to meet with him now," Dagonet said kindly, "but I would like to have a look at your injuries before, if I could?"

"I am fine, but I must speak with Arthur," Tristan dismissed his injuries as he began moving toward the meeting hall.

"This way, scout," Kay said as he redirected them toward the inn, "We already met with the commander. Arthur resides in his lodgings. Tristan raised an eyebrow at where their lodgings happened to be, but followed his comrades none the less. When they arrived in Arthur's rooms, Kay aided Tristan to sit on the cot.

"Tristan, how did you get here," Arthur asked worriedly and he grabbed a basin of water and some cloths for his injured knight.

"I walked," Tristan said without humor. "I need to know if Cassia has arrived," he said worriedly, not that anyone could tell.

"No, you are the only one to have come through the gates after we did," Lancelot said concernedly.

"Cassia is not with you," Arthur asked as he handed the supplies to Dagonet. Dag took them and quickly went to Tristan's side.

"No, I woke in the woods, alone. We had been captured, but they let me go," Tristan explained through clenched teeth as Dagonet found his sensitive ankle.

"They let you go," Kay asked in shock. "But they have more reason to kill you than any of us. Why would they let you go and not her?"

"I can only guess that she either fled while she had the chance, or she made a bargain with our captors, though I could never tell you why she would do such a thing for me. However, if she had made a run for it she would have needed supplies from this fort. There is not another village for at least four day's walk," Tristan gasped as Dagonet rolled the ankle gently.

"It is not broken, but it is badly sprained. Walking on it probably hasn't helped it either," Dagonet said as he placed it in the position he wished then began to wrap it. Tristan simply nodded and looked to Arthur.

"So, you believe the lass is still with them," Bors asked confusedly. Tristan once again nodded.

"Either that or she is more insane than we thought," Lancelot laughed, but it died when he looked at the grave faces of his friends. "So what are we going to do," he amended sheepishly.

"We have a mission to complete. I cannot stray from that to rescue a troublesome woman," Arthur said regretfully. "I wish we could go out to find her, but Gaius will be watching our every move, I'm afraid."

"What is our assignment," Tristan asked offhandedly while trying to ignore Dagonet's careful probing.

"We are going to be scouting the outer territories while the Romans prepare to squelch the uprising," Arthur said disgustedly.

"This is nonsense," Lancelot complained. "They send us out like message boys to do their bidding while they sit here and take the credit." Arthur sent Lancelot a sharp glare for referring to the task Tristan did without complaint as the work of a message boy. Lancelot didn't seem to notice, nor did Tristan for that matter.

"These Woads are very strong. They are well organized, unlike the ones we have faced at the Wall. These rebels have lived amongst the enemy for years and have learned their weakness. The Romans want to send us in because these rebels have never faced us before," Tristan informed Arthur as he began to stand. "We get sent to our deaths, so the Romans can sneak in after us and launch the main attack…Deception," Tristan growled as he went to leave.

"How do you know so much about their tactics," Kay asked curiously. The others just nodded their agreement.

"I've seen it before," Tristan answered cryptically as he turned back to Arthur. "Am I still being punished, or do I get my own room?"

"Tristan you aren't being punished. You know I have rules to follow too, but I don't like disciplining you any more than you like to be disciplined. But, now that Cassia is no longer…" Arthur was cut off by the scout's sharp voice.

"I will take my lashes, Arthur. Just because she may very well be dead, doesn't change the fact that I mistreated her. I will be around, but I won't be seen. If you need me, I shall come," Tristan said before he rose and left the room.

"A flogging was his punishment," Dagonet asked quietly. Arthur just nodded while the others looked on in confusion. "Tristan may have done some terrible things, but you know as soon as leather touches his back you may no longer have a scout. The emotional trauma he suffered from that goes far beyond the scars on his back," Dagonet said angrily as he put away his supplies.

"It was a threat to keep him in line. I hadn't planned to actually go through with it. I had hoped that they would sort out their troubles on this mission, and the situation would no longer call for our interference. I hadn't expected this to happen," Arthur admitted dejectedly. "We can't go back for her because it will jeopardize the mission, as well as our safety."

"Tristan is going to want to return for her, even if he doesn't realize it yet," Dagonet said as he turned to leave as well.

"Then I suggest keeping an eye on him, Dag," Arthur called to his back then turned to the others in the room.

"Mind explaining," Lancelot said with a raised eyebrow. Arthur sighed before relaying what they needed to know about the situation.

Tristan marched out of the inn in a bit of a daze. He used to know this fort like he knew the contours of Isolde's body, but both memories had faded over his five year absence. Slowly Tristan made his way toward the hut of Isolde's closest friend. Lena had been the one to take in Rosheen, and Tristan had some matters to discuss with the woman. His daughter was under constant assault by the village children, and Tristan wanted an explanation. He also wanted to be close to someone who knew Isolde. Lena had always been kind to him, and he needed to speak to her.

"Lena," he called as he stood outside the rundown hut. Tristan had helped build the comfortable home along with his entire unit of Sarmatian warriors. Alan, another Sarmatian, had taken a liking to the girl and decided to marry her. All of the men had helped build the hut for them; however, he hadn't lived long enough to go through with the wedding.

The door creaked open to reveal a wicked looking brunette standing in the doorway. "Well, well. It has been a while, Septimus. I can't say that we missed you, though," she said with a sneer.

"It's Tristan, Magda, and I'm not thrilled to be here either," Tristan growled at the woman he had hated for over ten years.

"Can't blame you there, Darius and Gaius still want you dead," she said casually. "I see you have found your spawn. Can we finally get rid of the useless brat, or are you still incapable of looking after her like your commander said. After all I have six children of my own to take care of, and your little pissant is just another burden."

"I saw your son out there taunting her Mag. If I see it again, you'll only have five children to feed and clothe," Tristan said as he pushed his way past her.

"You couldn't kill a hare back then, Tristan. What would be any different now," Magda called after him, but was made silent as a perfectly balanced dagger stuck itself into the door frame between her fingers. Tristan continued down the hall until he found the door at the far end. Standing carefully, so as not to irritate his leg, Tristan knocked. The door opened slowly and he saw light blue eyes brighten.

"I stopped expecting you four years ago," Lena said with a calm smile.

"I didn't expect to return," Tristan replied in a flat tone, not revealing the fact that he was actually pleased to see her again. Lena had been Isolde's closest friend when she was alive, and Tristan had found her company enjoyable. She was one of very few, who did not condemn him for who he was. Then again, she had been betrothed to another Sarmatian so she showed no prejudice toward them. "I didn't know I had anything to come back to."

"She's her mother's image, is she not," Lena smiled sadly. "It hurts every time I look at her, but I love her like my own," the small brunette said as she ushered the scout inside. She moved a chair so that the scout could sit, but he simply shook his head preferring to stand. "What brings you back, Tristan? Did Arthur finally tell you that she lived?"

"A mission… Arthur never mentioned a word of her to me," Tristan answered as he crossed his arms. His posture was stiff to begin with from the injuries, but he was even tenser from the conversation.

"So you've come for an explanation then," Lena finished for him. "Well, I suppose that is the least I owe you," she said with a sad smile. "I was the one who found Iz's body. The baby had been wailing all afternoon, so one of the local women to me to go check on them. I found her lying there on the bed with that sacred dagger of yours beside her in a pool of blood. I took Rosheen before I called for help, knowing that if the Romans found her, they would have killed her simply because she was yours. We all knew that Isolde took her own damned life, but the Romans seized the opportunity and you know the rest of that. I kept Ro with me until Arthur came. One of the villagers sent him to me because I knew you well. He found Rosheen and said that you were in no condition to take care of a child. Said you were barely alive, and then he said he would send me enough coin to raise her so long as I kept her. And I've raised her ever since, but it wasn't for the money that I did it. I loved Isolde too, and I wasn't about to let her down. I'm surprised that Rosheen didn't recognize you because she can't go to bed without a story about you and Iz. She loves you, and she doesn't even know you."

"She hasn't seen my face," Tristan said with a hint of relief.

"Still mysterious, Tristan? I suppose that was one of the reasons Isolde loved you. You always kept her guessing. The past five years haven't been easy, especially on Rosheen. I can barely feed her and my own two. Ever since Alan's death I've lived off the pittance people throw at me for being seamstress. Rosheen has barely a friend to her name. The children taunt her because no one's there to stand up for her, and after the first few times I yelled at them, I realized it was useless. She was born to be an outcast it seems. She always asks me why you don't come for her, but I keep telling her that you will come as soon as you can. Then she asks if you don't want her like everyone says, but I tell her you want her more than the air you breathe. But now you're here, so I guess you'll be taking her back with you," Lena said with a warmer demeanor that only she possessed.

"I didn't come to take her with me. Arthur was correct; I can't raise a child. I just came to ask if there was anything I could do for you while I am here," Tristan said coldly.

"You aren't taking her? But she is your little girl. What am I supposed to say to her when people start telling her that you are at the fort," Lena asked angrily.

"Tell her the truth," Tristan said as he turned to leave.

"So I should tell her that everyone was right that you didn't want her, and no one ever will? Or should I tell her that you are too selfish to love another person," Lena shouted with tears in her crystal blue eyes.

"Whichever you wish, I have things to do, so goodbye," Tristan said harshly.

"Tris, she loved you more than she did herself. The last thing she ever told me was that she was having your child. She was so excited. She spent over half the day telling me that she was going to name it after you, and then when your service was over she would go back to Sarmatia with you. But she never got the chance, did she? Instead, she left you with a daughter not your own," Lena said tearfully. "You didn't think I knew, did you? Tristan, there are things in our lives that we aren't happy with, but there are also things that are more important than the pain they cause us," Lena paused to compose herself. "Every time I look at Rosheen, I feel my heart ache, but I wouldn't give a moment with her away to be rid of the pain."

"I never asked for a child. I don't have a legacy I would want passed on," Tristan said.

"Is it that she reminds you of the past, or that you're so trapped in the past that you're unwilling to leave it?"

"Don't try to analyze me, Lena. I can't raise her any better than she could raise herself."

"Tristan, before you leave. Do you remember what you told me at Alan's grave," Lena asked as she wiped her eyes and turned to him.

"No," Tristan sighed honestly.

"You told me that sometimes people come into our lives for a brief while, but leave us changed forever. All we can do is enjoy the time we have with, then when they are gone we must honor them by living the life they cannot," Lena reminded him slowly. "Tristan you've forgotten your own words and with them you've forgotten how to live," with that Lena went back to tidying the humble room. "Take a good look at her before you leave, Tristan, because if you do see her again, she'll probably be selling herself for her dinner. No one wants a woman with no one to recommend her," Lena called over her shoulder as Tristan went to leave.

Tristan said nothing as he left the house passing Magda without a word, but retrieving his dagger. As he exited the hut, he saw Rosheen sitting on a barrel playing with some flowers she had picked. As he passed her, she spoke absently. "Are you like Darius? He always comes here to see Magda or Lena. She screams a lot and then he leaves, and Lena cries for hours."

Tristan froze at what he heard. Lena had been the betrothed of Alan, another Sarmatian who died in Gaius' service. To hear that she was being used by Darius was enough to infuriate Tristan beyond sense.

"Many men are cruel. I am one of them, but few are as sadistic as Darius. I would not compare him to Hades himself, for at least Hades only torments those deserving of it," Tristan said as he turned to her.

"Why do you never show your face," she asked as she slipped off that barrel to look at him.

"I do not show my face because it would only bring trouble if I did," Tristan said coolly. "Now why don't you go help Lena? She is tired and would appreciate it."

Rosheen just smiled at him and skipped of to help her aunt. Tristan sighed as he watched her go. He wasn't sure what to do anymore. His fury told him to find Darius and slaughter the man for touching anyone he cared about, but his small heart told him he could not leave Cassia if she was still with the Woads.

Cassia hadn't moved from her spot in the corner of the hut since Tristan was carried out. She sat quietly reflecting upon her decision. Cassia had never been a woman of great faith, mainly because her beliefs had been outlawed by the empire, but she found herself praying to the gods that Tristan was alright. She barely thought upon her own troubles while she laid waiting.

She looked down at her shackled wrist and thought of the emerald charm that had once adorned it. What was once her most cherished possession, paled in comparison to what had been sealed around her wrist in enslavement. 'An emerald from a man who probably stole it off a corpse,' she thought wryly before tracing the symbols on her shackles. 'Or two shackles engraved with care and beauty, from the man who owns my wretched life.'

"Faustus. The gods were laughing at me even before I was born. Luck is something I shall never possess," she said in disgust as she lay down to sleep.

XxXxX

I meant to get this out this morning, but things got in the way. I hope you liked it, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the last one. Hopefully I can get the next one out in a day or two, but I can't promise anything. Please continue to let me know what you think. It really does help inspire me to write.


	36. Decisions, Decisions

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

AN: Sorry this took so long to update, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. And for everyone who has been asking for more Cassia, this chapter is mostly her.

Chapter 36 Decisions, Decisions

As Tristan promised, he disappeared after his meeting with Arthur and the others. Tristan hadn't been in the fort in over four winters, but he still knew the premises better than most of its inhabitants. He was still covered in the thick cloak that Cassia had laid him upon, when he had rescued her from the Woads the first time. The thick earthen colored material still possessed the dark blotches where his wounds had saturated the fabric. However worn the fabric was, it still kept out the chill of the autumn winds, and Tristan was grateful for it.

Tristan skulked through the dark alleys of the fort as he made his way toward the outer gates of the village. Tristan could smell the dank stench of death as he moved past one of the many hidden dungeons that the fort possessed. He remembered the inside to those walls very well; almost as well as he remembered the feeling of his wounds beginning to fester as he lay in his own filth. The memories surrounded him like a black veil, distorting his vision of reality.

Tristan passed many pieces of his past as he headed for the only place he was still welcome in the realm of his past. The jagged stones and tools marking graves was the only indication that Tristan had reached the cemetery. He could feel the chill in his bones as he continued on, determined to face what he had been afraid to for the past four years. Tristan was numb but for once it was not the biting cold of the British winter that caused it. Tristan was numb to any feelings but those he still possessed for his former love. Not the damp ground, the icy breeze, the approaching clouds, or even the circumstances could penetrate Tristan's focus, which rested on the small bramble of a rose bush that marked the head of Isolde's cold grave.

Tristan silently approached the grave, careful to avoid stepping on another's. He glanced down at the small vine that had once produced so few blossoms, but now he could see that summer had seen brilliant life from the hibernating plant. Tristan stood for only a moment before he collapsed to his weak knees jarring his hip and ribs, but he didn't notice as he broke down. Silent tears refused to fall, but blurred his vision so that the world was a liquid reality. He felt as though he were the one that had been stabbed in the heart so many years ago, but his body had just begun to realize it. Tristan made no sound but sat in silent agony over a grave that should have been his own.

"Isolde," he began but paused for lack of words. Slowly he began again when the words finally came to him. "Isolde… I have failed you in every way I possibly could," he admitted then lapsed into silence once again. Without a word, Tristan relived his misdeeds and failings over and over. Unconsciousness swept over him when his injured body could no longer take the strain of his despair and disrepair. Dark shadows of dreams assaulted him for hours, but Tristan's body and mind were too weak to bring him back to consciousness. Tristan knew that he had a choice that he must make, but he was afraid of the consequences of either action.

To avenge his beloved was all he had asked for from the moment he lost her, but if he chose revenge, Cassia might never see another sunset. If he saved the woman who shattered the shell he lived in, he would have one less death on his conscience but little vengeance. Nightmares tore apart his fragile mind as fever broke his already crumbling body. Tristan was trapped in his own torment for hours and would have continued as such for far longer had soft hands not tugged at his cloak.

Tristan roused slowly as he felt small but tender hands rubbing his shoulder. It should not have been enough to wake him from his fever induced dreams, but he knew that touch all too well. "Isolde," he mumbled as he struggled to awareness. The hand stopped moving but didn't disappear as Tristan woke. He frowned as his mind told him that it could not have possibly been Isolde's touch since she was dead and the hand still touched him. Tristan slowly turned from where he lay on his side, to see the untamed fiery curls of his beloved's child. "Rosheen?" Tristan was a bit confused at how similar her touch was to her mother's since she had barely known the woman.

"Why are you at mommy's grave? Did you know mommy," the small girl asked still covered in the day's mud. Tristan grimaced at the glimmering hope in the little girl's green orbs. He saw the beauty that she would become, just as her mother had, and no matter how hard he tried Tristan could not find a feature on the girl that indicated that her father had any part in her creation. When Tristan didn't answer, the girl moved to uncover his face thinking that perhaps he was once again unconscious. Tristan stopped her quickly though his actions were more sluggish than usual from his fever and weakness.

"Yes," was all he said as he tried to sit up. His ribs protested the action, and he nearly doubled over with the effort and pain. Confusion marred Rosheen's porcelain face as she tried to understand how a stranger could have known her mother. "What are you doing here," Tristan asked as the world stopped spinning around him, and he realized that the sun had long since set. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I came here when Aunt Lena wasn't looking," the small girl admitted sheepishly as she watched Tristan closely. Tristan couldn't explain why all of a sudden he felt the wretchedness of anger envelope him, but he knew that Lena was the subject of it. Tristan knew the types of men that lurked these streets in the day when others watched and he knew that, though they were bold and wretch men, the one's who owned the night were far worse. He felt his hands involuntarily clench, but let his anger wash away as he gazed upon the rosy cheeks of his step-daughter.

"Come, you shall catch your death out here," he growled to Rosheen as he made to rise from the cold earth. Rosheen simply shook her head and made to dash away from him, but Tristan grabbed her waist and pulled her flailing body to him. "Calm yourself, I will not hurt you," he said softly as he covered her in his cloak while still enjoying its warmth himself. "You came to see your mother," he said as a question and received a slight nod from his frightened companion. "Are you afraid of me," he asked a bit saddened that she would fear him even if she didn't know him.

"You never show your face and you always growl," she said but snuggled closer to him as a harsh wind swept through the cemetery.

Tristan was hurt by the fact that though what she said was true, she was by all rights his daughter and she feared him. Tristan realized that his only hope of gaining her sweet trust was to reveal his identity or tell her a story of her mother. He opted for the latter because he still didn't believe himself capable of raising a child. Revealing his identity would eventually lead to his claim of her. Slowly Tristan spoke softly, "would you like to hear a story about your mother?" He received a small nod and he chose the happiest story he could think of in his time with Isolde. Slowly and with the greatest amount of care, Tristan told Rosheen about the day she was born.

When he finished the long story of the only day of his life that he had openly admitted his fears to his beloved, he noticed that Rosheen's breathing had evened out in sleep. Tristan sat silently for a long time thinking of the only other time her had admitted his fears aloud. That had been when he told Dinadan that he feared a death not as noble as his friend's. Dinadan had not been alive to hear the revelation, but Tristan believed that his friend had heard it because Tristan had been lucky enough to survive many an ignoble death. Slowly Tristan realized that it was not death he fear but his actions before it which would determine his valor. Forgetting his fever and unrest, Tristan rose quickly from the ground with his precious bundle wrapped safely in his arms. Tristan returned Rosheen to Lena and warned her to keep a closer eye on the only daughter he would ever have, before he took his leave and headed for the inn.

XxXxXxX

Cassia sat quietly beside the campfire that the Woads had just built in order to cook the night's meal. Each person had a task to do and the entire camp was at work. Cassia watched as women passed her carrying rabbits to be skinned while others looked for herbs and berries. One woman sat down beside her and placed a rabbit and a small dagger in Cassia's hands.

"Oh, I don't cook," Cassia started meekly as she studied the slain rabbit's once glossy fur.

"Not cook, skin it. See," the woman said patiently; as she demonstrated how skin the animal. The woman spoke very poor Latin, but her actions were enough for Cassia to grasp the full meaning of the words. Cassia nearly lost what little she had ingested that day as she watched the middle aged woman skin the rabbit carefully. Cassia simply nodded to the Woad as she lifted her own dagger. Cassia studied the woman beside her as she worked. The lady had obviously been a warrior in her time based on the fading scars running up and down her arms and legs. She was dressed in garments almost as tattered as Cassia's own. Her hair flowed down her back in long waves and one could still see the rustic brown of it through the silvery grays. Cassia decided that this woman could not have been more than five or six years her senior, but life had treated her roughly. Cassia began to think that perhaps all of her hardships were not so terrible.

The elders had been in council the entire day, and no one dared venture close to their hut. Cassia had waited patiently, but now as she sat skinning the poor beast her mind began to torment her with possibilities. As she watched the woman beside her skin the rabbit, she imagined them doing the same to her.

Cassia found herself wishing that Tristan was still there with her because no matter what happened, so long as he was their, she felt safe. Even with death staring them in the face, Tristan's presence brought her courage that she no longer felt on her own. Cassia began to wonder when it happened that she had given over her rebellious spirit and come to rely on and even enjoy the scout's presence. One thing Marcus had never given Cassia was a sense of security, but Tristan gave that to her even if he was unkind most of the time.

As the sun fell beneath the lush hills of Britain, Merlin stepped forth from the elders' hut. He passed through the camp silently while the Woads stepped out of his way in respect. He stopped before Cassia, who sat quietly contemplating what her life had become.

"Will you join me in my hut," Merlin asked politely even though she was his prisoner. Cassia silently rose and followed him to his small home, leaving her poorly skinned rabbit behind. Merlin ushered her in and offered her the same blanket on which she sat earlier. Cassia took it kindly and sat in front of the mellow fire. "I will not torment you by dragging this out," he paused only but a brief moment before explaining her sentence. "You shall be executed at dawn," he said calmly with a tired sigh. He had given too many orders that sent good men and women to their deaths. He had seen life snatched from the most brilliant of souls, and it kill him every time he sent another to their end. The Romans may have called him a magician, but even he could not prevent death. His bones were weary beyond his years, and his heart had long since withered from disuse.

Looking at the woman before him with her dulling eyes and wearing beauty, he couldn't help but wish to spare her. She was not a threat to them or anyone else. The faint lines running through her once lively face told Merlin that even if she was spared, she would die before her time for she no longer had the will to live.

He was woken from his thoughts when Cassia finally replied. "Very well," she said dejectedly.

"Why do you mourn so suddenly," Merlin asked concernedly.

"It is just that when I gave Tristan back his blade, I made a promise to myself. I promised that if anyone would take my life, it would be him because he was the only one who truly had a right to it. But when the time came and Tristan had the chance to end me, he spared my life. I don't know why he did it, but if he, who truly had reason, didn't killed me, why should anyone else have the right," Cassia found herself telling the wise man all she was thinking.

"Why did you given yourself for him?"

"Were my reasons before not to your liking," Cassia asked tiredly as she thought about the elusive scout. Merlin smiled softly as he watched the emotions playing across her face.

"Your reasons were fine, but they were not the only ones you had for your actions. You may believe him a better being than yourself, but that has never stopped you in the past from only watching out for yourself. I believe that you rejoiced when Lamorak was slain," Merlin explained thoughtfully, not hurtfully.

"It was different then, but you are right. I did have other reasons as well, whether I admitted it to myself or not. Had I accepted the freedom you offered me and let Tristan die by your hand, I would not be alive even now. If I had escaped, I would have had to venture to Eboracum for supplies even if I wished to run or return to Rome. If I entered Eboracum, I would have been recognized by one of the knights because I don't exactly fit in to the crowds looking like this," she said gesturing to her ragged clothes and paltry appearance. "If they found that I had survived and Tristan did not, they would execute me. Even Gawain would feel no remorse to see me die if I were the reason that another one of his brothers did not get to see his freedom," Cassia paused a moment to stifle a small sob. "So there you have it. I am not the honorable woman I pretend to be. I simply realize that no matter what; my time is up, but I refuse to have others sacrifice themselves for a woman you is already dead."

"Perhaps you do not see it in yourself, child, but you have honor. No one can take that from you. Only your own actions show how noble your soul is. You may not believe it, but sparing his life was honorable, even if it was only because you will die either way. Many would have let him die as well out of anger, but you still fought even when you had nothing left to fight for," Merlin paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "I cannot spare your life, but I can grant you a final request," he said respectfully.

"What could I request," Cassia asked skeptically as she rearranged the frayed bottom of her once floor length dress. She studiously inspected the once olive colored fabric which had become a sickly brownish green over days of travel and captivity.

Merlin looked on in pity for the fire he had seen in her had finally extinguished itself like a dying star. "Perhaps you wish to die free. We could remove these," Merlin suggested as he gently lifted her shackled wrists as he knelt before her.

"Wearing these does no make me a slave. I am a slave by choice. I could have given my life and died free by Tristan's blade, but I chose life and with it I chose enslavement. Just because you remove them, does no make me free of my pledge to him, only he can do that," she said as she slipped her weary hands out of the wise man's grasp. "These are simply a symbol of the only honor I possess still…loyalty… and you shall not take that from me," she whispered with defeated conviction.

"Do you have a wish then," Merlin asked as he rose to stare down at the woman at his feet. She was no more than a pile of rags and filth. Her hair was so matted in mud and sweat, that he was unsure of its original color. She was a pitiable sight, but Merlin found that he could no longer pity the woman. She claimed responsibility for all of her actions, and never complained at their consequences. He simply reached a wrinkled hand down and lifted her to her feet so that she might speak to him as an equal rather than an as his captive.

"If I could have any wish, it would be for a chance to say goodbye to them all, but as for a request," she paused for a moment swiping her hair out of her equally filthy face. "I would like to die by my own blade. It was a tradition in old time for a disgraced soldier to fall upon his own blade instead of dishonoring the empire. There is no honor left in the empire so the custom is no longer in existence, but I still believe in what once was." She stood before the leader of the Woads with her shoulders held straight and her chin high to look straight into his wise eyes. Merlin saw no fear, but instead the last threads of determination that the woman possessed.

"I don't know. That is a grand request," Merlin contemplated.

"You may do with my corpse whatever that you wish; it matters little to me. The gods did not think enough to give me beauty, so I doubt they will be angered by it," Cassia said wryly.

"So you are a pagan? You are not an average Roman, milady," Merlin said with respect. "I will see what I can do for you," he said before disappearing into the camp once again.

The sun had completely set and the stars shown bright in the dark sky when Cassia returned to the fire. Once again she retreated into her own thoughts when she watched the flames dance. Shortly after resuming her quiet seat, she felt a presence next to her.

"Have you come to take my solitude from me as well," Cassia asked without turning away from the bright flames that moved swiftly and gracefully, reminding her of the way that Tristan danced with his sword in battle. Tristan was much like the flames in that the only time one could see into his being was when he fought, and the fire within him glowed brightly. Cassia found herself wondering if Isolde had been able to see that fire every time she watched the scout. Cassia nearly missed what Guinevere said to her because she was so lost in her thoughts.

"I simply came to sit, if you don't mind," the girl said quietly, as she moved closer toward the flames. Guinevere was wearing very little as were most of the other Woads, but the chill of the night was causing her slight frame to quiver from the chill.

"It is your camp. You may sit where you like; I shall not be the one to stop you because you have been naught but kind to me," Cassia said as she moved to make room for the Woad. The pair sat quietly for several minutes just enjoying the silent company. Cassia began to understand why Tristan used to simply like to sit in silence with her. She could easily let her thoughts wander while still being connected to something or someone. It was a warm and gentle feeling that company gave one in the darkest moments.

Finally Guinevere spoke, "Father told me that you will be executed at dawn." There was a hint of sadness or even despair in the young girl's voice that made Cassia look into her warm pleading brown eyes. It was as though the girl wished her to deny that death was only hours away, which was something Cassia could no longer do.

"Yes. Death awaits me at first light, but it has been waiting for me longer than this night," Cassia replied lifelessly watching the hope die in the girl's beautiful but pained visage.

"I do not understand," The young Woad confessed with confusion.

"How old are you Guinevere," Cassia asked politely.

"Fifteen summers," Guinevere replied proudly. Cassia couldn't help but smile at the girl's spirit.

"When you reach my nine-and-twenty winters, you will understand many things that make little sense to you now. When I was your age, I still believed that Rome was the greatest empire civilization would ever see and that I would find the perfect man like my sister and we would live happily till the end of our days. My views have changed greatly in fifteen years. Now I realize that my life is simply the sum of my own choices. No one can choose fate for another. You will learn that if you live as long as I have," Cassia said sagely.

Guinevere was quiet for a moment as she too was hypnotized by the fire before them. Finally she blurted out, "I wish you were not a Roman because I could see us being great friends." Guinevere's cheeks turned an almost flattering shade of pink and Cassia knew that the girl regretted her words.

"What is stopping us from being friends, great or otherwise," Cassia asked lightly, hoping to ease the girl's embarrassment.

"You are a Roman, our enemy, and you shall be executed at dawn. How could we become friends," Guinevere reasoned sadly.

"Let me teach you an important lesson tonight, Guinevere," Cassia said seriously. You do not hate all Romans, for there are very many of us and I doubt that you know enough to condemn the whole lot. You hate the ideals that these men and women have been sent away from their homes and families in order to uphold. You will be a very lonely person if you hate everyone for the wrongs of a few," Cassia informed the younger girl as she placed and arms around her in sympathy.

"But Rome…"

"Is filled with just as many good men as cruel ones, but they, like you, are under the control of the cruel men who are hungry for power," Cassia said honestly. "So let us forget for tonight that we are anything but two people and let us be friends just for tonight."

"I would like that," Guinevere said with a calm smile.

"Very good then," Cassia said with a smile of her own. "So how long have you been a warrior," she asked curiously.

"I have been training since I was eight summers, but I have another year before father shall let me see battle," Guinevere said excitedly, and Cassia could see not only the flames dancing in the girl's eyes but a pride Cassia had never had for herself.

"You are lucky then," Cassia said and continued at Guinevere's questioning glance. "My master saw his first battle when he was fourteen and Galahad, another knight; saw his first when he was but eleven." Guinevere's jaw dropped at how young they had been. "I myself have never had to take up arms for a cause, but I know that battle is not something that I ever wish to see. I have seen what it does to even the strongest of men, and I do not wish to see it for myself."

"But to fight for what you believe is the greatest…" Guinevere was cut of by Cassia's soft voice.

"Yes, but I would still choose a peaceful slavery rather than a violent freedom," Cassia said with despair weaving into her voice. "For if you fight you will lose the one's you love and if you fight long enough you shall have nothing left. I have lost those I love, so I am less willing to throw away what I still have. I have watched the despair in each of the knights' eyes when they bring back a fallen brother…" Cassia trailed off.

Guinevere understood the pain that Cassia felt and decided to change the subject. "Can you tell me about the knights? Father always tells me stories, but I don't believe him," Guinevere asked excitedly.

Cassia smiled before answering. "Yes, what would you like to hear about," Cassia replied in a lighter tone.

"Well are they as handsome as legend says," Guinevere started, and Cassia couldn't help but laugh at the girl's train of thought. "I mean, I saw…Tristan, that was his name right?" Cassia nodded and Guinevere continued, "But he wasn't exactly… well he seemed a bit filthy even before we brought him in."

Cassia laughed even harder at Guinevere's words. "You cannot base your thoughts of the knights on Tristan because he does not live to impress anyone. I have seen him at his best, and he still looks as feral at a lion." Guinevere looked at Cassia oddly at the reference and Cassia just brushed it off by saying that it was a wild animal. "However, the others are rather handsome," Cassia paused a moment before laughing at herself. "I cannot believe I am discussing this with you. I've barely thought twice about anyone them, as far as looks go, since I met them, and here I am corrupting your young mind."

"I'm not that young. Girls have been married before they reached my age. And do you really mean that you are around that many good looking men all the time and you barely notice them," Guinevere asked in shock as her jaw hung near her ankles.

Cassia laughed once more and said between breathes, "I usually only see Tristan, unless I help at the tavern or catch one of them in their rooms when I am collecting laundry. And as far as Tristan goes, he is far from the type of man that would instill flutters in a girl's heart from anything other than fear." Even as the words passed her lips, Cassia knew she was lying, otherwise she wouldn't still be thinking of the scout's warm eyes and fluid movements in her last few hours of life.

Neither cared about anything other than their conversation as they enjoyed each other's company. Cassia spoke of her family and how they had disowned her, and Guinevere spoke of how she had very few friends because of who she was. Most girls were either jealous or didn't like the fact that Guinevere loved fighting. The pair laughed and spoke long into the night about anything and everything they could think of. It was mere hours before dawn when Cassia submitted to sleep because of her weary body, and Guinevere rose and slipped from the camp, like a specter into the shadows of the night.

XxXxX

Please don't hurt me; I know that I took an obnoxiously long time to update. I really have no other excuse besides laziness. I hope you enjoyed this chapter because there are only two (possibly three) more left. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. Please continue to let me know what you think of it because I'm having one of those slumps where I think that everything I write is terrible and I want to tear it up. I have the next chapter half finished so I will probably get it out tomorrow some time, but I make no promises since every time I do something comes up.


	37. Change of Heart

**Disclaimer: for the 37****th**** time, I do not own anything.**

Chapter 37 Change of Heart

The first rays of gold hit the dark sky, scaring away the shadows of night and heralded the new day. It was once again a rare morning as the sun showed her glorious face without a veil of thick clouds to hide her from those below her. The entire camp still slept under strict order from the elders not to disturb the morning's proceedings. Not even the birds were heard singing their praise to a new day, as Merlin made his way over to the figure that lay slumped over a log next to the remains of the night's fire.

The weathered leader looked down at Cassia's face, before waking her, and noticed that the youth she had once possessed was completely gone. Before him lay a woman clothed in ill-fitting and tattered garments. Her hair did not even lay sprawled around her from the amount of mud that it was caked with. As he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, she roused and he noticed that her once warm and deep eyes were dull and lifeless though she still breathed. Merlin didn't have to say a word before Cassia rose to follow him silently, to her death.

As they walked Cassia looked around the camp from body to body of sleeping men and women. They were not blue demons as she had once thought, but they were humans of flesh and blood and heart and soul just as she had once been. Her eye caught the elderly woman who had showed her how to skin a rabbit the night before, and Cassia couldn't help but smile as she saw youth the woman still possessed in sleep. Cassia wished that she still had beauty in sleep, but she knew that she had never possessed such beauty and now it no longer matter.

As they passed the boundaries of the camp, Cassia finally hung her head low and just followed the steps of the man in front of her. Her hair hung in clumps in front of her face and around her shoulders. The golden brown locks that had once been her pride and only beauty, now just added to her disparity. As they came to a small clearing Merlin halted, and Cassia finally glanced up. The clearing was so small that she could have leapt to the other side had she felt the urge. Merlin stood holding his staff tightly as he leaned against it tiredly. Cassia could tell that he had slept no more than she the previous nights, and she felt guilty that she had been the cause of it.

Cassia hadn't noticed the warrior beside Merlin until the young man, painted fully in woad, stepped forward holding out a Roman gladius to the stunned slave. "You kept your word," Cassia said a bit unbelieving.

"I told you I would do what I could," Merlin said with a small smile at the way Cassia's eyes lit up as she received the gleaming weapon from the guard. Cassia's eyes suddenly had a hint of life in them once again as she cradled the blade in her arms as if it were the most precious thing in the world. "You may have privacy if you wish it," Merlin said as he ushered the guard out of the clearing. Cassia did not reply as she stood in the middle of the clearing with sword in hand. The sun was climbing slowly into the sky just beyond the trees, and Cassia waited patiently, knowing that the rays would weave their ways through the net of branches and leaves above her. All she wanted was to feel the warmth of the sun caress her cheek one last time before she left this world.

As she waited Cassia's mind brought her back to the days before she had left Rome. As Cassia thought of her innocent childhood, she could not think of a time she was happier than the nights that her and Vanora would be the only to women working in the tavern, watching the knights joke and play. There was something freeing in the way those men who had seen more bloodshed than anyone should ever have could forget all their troubles so long as they had each other. Cassia finally admitted to herself that she had never felt that companionship or love with Marcus. She had fallen in love with the idea of the man she wished Marcus was, but she had never actually loved _him_.

All sounds and movements of the world around her faded as Cassia lifted the short sword from her side. She could feel the golden rays penetrate the shadow of the forest, as the morning presented itself one last time to the defeated Cassia. As the heat of the morning sun caressed her battered form, Cassia slowly lifted the wicked blade in front of her. She let a small tear make its way down her dirty cheek and clear a clean path for others to follow, as she tilted her head toward the rising sun. All her mind allowed her to think of was the day she had sat with Tristan by the edge of the stream as she did her wash. She remembered the way the light had danced across the scout's bare chest and the way his eyes were warm as the rays of sun upon her now, as he watched her work.

This was the way Cassia would die. She didn't think of the pain her or anyone else had caused her, and as she focused on only the good she lifted the sword just a little further before swiftly pulling it toward her weary chest. The point of the blade had barely made contact with Cassia's soft stomach before it and her arms were held immobile by two strong but gentle hands grasping her frail wrists. Before Cassia could open her eyes or hear the sounds of battle around her, a very simple phrase was whispered into her ear by a very gravelly and accented voice. "I did not give you permission to die."

All of a sudden Cassia was aware of the strong arms wrapped around her weak frame from behind her. She could feel the tickle of the man's beard on her neck as he moved his lips away from her ear. She could feel the firmness of his chest as it was pressed against her quivering shoulders. She heard the dull thud of metal hitting earth as the sword fell from her tired fingers, and she could feel her body give out as she slumped into his protective embrace. She could feel her body being lowered to rest in his lap as he knelt on the cold earth. Finally she heard her own broken voice as she found the one word that had followed her even to her final moments. "Tristan," she whispered in a rush of breath as her tears finally caught up with her and she couldn't help but sob. Tears of joy, relief, a multitude of other emotions flowed down her dirty encrusted cheeks.

"Shh," the scout whispered as he placed a gentle thumb to each of her cheeks and wiped the tears away as one would to a small child. Cassia felt him pull her closer to him as she became fully aware of the battle going on not far off. Cassia didn't bother to look anywhere but into Tristan's deep golden eyes as she continued to sob silently at all that she had gone through, as well as the fact that Tristan had come back for her. Cassia had never let herself hope that Tristan would even think of returning for her, but when she looked into his eyes she knew she had underestimated him yet again. "Did I not promise to protect you from those with ill intentions," Tristan asked in a barely audible whisper, but Cassia simply nodded then buried her face in his chest as he wrapped her cloak around her shaking frame.

It felt like an eternity before the sounds of battle began to dim but had only been a matter of moments, and Tristan finally loosened his grip on her slightly. When the clearing was finally silent once again, Tristan cradled Cassia in his arms as he rose to his feet. Cassia heard foot steps approaching them, but she still refused to lift her head from Tristan's chest. She heard a low whistle come from the chest against as he held her as gently as he would a princess, and soon the thud of hooves was heard approaching.

Tristan didn't even notice the throb in his ankle or pain in his ribs and side as he lifted a shaken Cassia into the saddle and mounted behind her. He found himself thanking every deity that he knew of, as he thought of how close they had come to being too late. The only reason that they had arrived in time to save his feisty slave was because the Woad, Guinevere, had come looking for them.

_Tristan had just finished arguing with Arthur over going back for Cassia when an oddly familiar figure crossed their horses' paths. She was wrapped in a think cloak that did little to hide her barely clothed and tattooed form, but Tristan blocked the others from attacking her._

"_Tristan you must come now. They will kill her at dawn, and I don't know if we shall make it back in time as it is," Guinevere spoke quickly as air rushed in and out of her lungs from running the entire way from the camp to the fort. Tristan didn't say a word as he lifted her into the saddle in front of him and began to gallop in the direction that the dark girl pointed in. The others didn't have the time to question the situation before they hurried to keep up with the scout._

_The sun's rays were already gracing the sky when Tristan let Guinevere slip from his saddle, just outside the camp. He nearly gave up hope when Cassia was no where to be seen but he rode through the camp like a man possessed as he searched anyway. The others fought those who woke while Tristan searched. It was Merlin himself that pointed Tristan in the right direction as he returned from the clearing._

"_Take her, but spare my people," the wise leader said as he called for his men and women to surrender. Tristan and Arthur both nodded as Tristan disappeared in Cassia's direction. Some Woads continued to fight, but mostly in was the sound of retreat and disappointment that made it to Tristan and Cassia's ears._ _When he had seen Cassia standing there with her blade poised to thrust it into her own chest, he had seen Isolde standing there with his own dagger. He had lost all thought and only concentrated on stopping what he had failed to prevent so many years ago._

The ride back to the fort was a silent one. All of the knights just watched the way their scout and his slave held onto each other as though nothing else existed. Even Gawain couldn't help but see that Tristan truly did care for the small Roman woman probably even more that he or the others could even understand.

As the fort came into view over the hills beyond the forest, each knight kicked their mount into a gallop and thundered through the gates and past the inquisitive eyes of the inhabitants. Tristan's horse barely halted as he slide from the saddle with Cassia in his arms, and began to make his way to the inn. Kay grabbed the reins of the excited stallion and guided it to a stall from his comrade.

Cassia had sobbed herself to sleep by the time that Tristan found an open room for her. He gently placed her on the small cot before quickly disappearing to retrieve extra blankets so that she might be comfortable. Once he had surrounded her in as many warm blankets and pillows as he could steal from the other knights, he knelt beside her on the floor. After rummaging through many of the pockets hidden in his armor, he found the jewel he had been looking for. Slowly, Tristan took Cassia's shackled wrist and tied the small emerald charm around it. He had hoped to give it back to her when he apologized to her the first time, but they had always butted heads instead. Now, he returned it to her as a sign that she no longer owed him anything, but instead he owed her his very existence. Tristan knew very well that Cassia had traded her life for his, and that had she not, they both probably would be dead now.

After brushing several clumps of her matted hair away from her relaxed face, Tristan rose to take care of the other mistake he had had so grievously made. The other knights watched as Tristan closed the door to Cassia's room and began to make his way down the hall. Arthur stood waiting for his scout as Tristan marched silently. "Tristan we leave as soon as Cassia is well enough to travel. I met with Gaius and told him that we had taken care of the Woad problem. He was less than pleased with us about it, but he said that we may leave because we shall no longer be needed," Arthur informed his scout. "I would like to speak with you, if it is not too much trouble, Tristan," Arthur ventured hoping that his scout was not too angry to speak.

"I have business to attend to Arthur. I will meet with you later if it is not urgent," Tristan asked once again with a statement. Arthur simply nodded understandingly as Tristan continued out the doors of the inn.

As Tristan approached Lena's hut he heard shouting and saw Darius exiting followed closely by an angry Lena. "Son of a whore, stay away from my children," Lena screamed as the wind swept the ebony locks out of her face, giving Tristan a clear view of the hand print that adorned it.

"I do stay away from you children, Lena," Darius sneered, "I just go near the daughter of that Sarmatian's whore." Darius didn't see the fist coming toward his face, but he felt it as he was knocked over from the force of it.

"Leave, Roman," Tristan growled with disgust as he watched Darius' eyes widen as he hurried off without a second glance. "He hit you," Tristan said stoically as he took Cassia's chin in his hand gently. "I shall make sure that he touches neither you nor your children anymore," he promised before she could say a word.

"What are you doing here, Tristan? Everyone says that the knights are leaving before the day is out," Lena asked as she tried to cover her battered face.

"I came to set things right. You were correct when you said some things are more important than the pain they cause us," Tristan paused and took a breath. Lena's eyes widened at the fact that he had listened to a word she said. "I shall take her back with me, and for your loyalty I shall continue to send you what Arthur has been," Tristan proposed the offer with little emotion.

"You really have come to take her," Lena asked in disbelief. Before Tristan could reply, he had a sobbing woman in his arms holding onto him for dear life. "This is wonderful. Rosheen will be ecstatic when she sees who you really are," Lena said as she wiped her joyful tears out of her still overflowing eyes. Tristan gently placed the back of his index finger to her cheek, catching a tear as he smiled a rare smile at her. He was usually uncomfortable with unnecessary contact, but Lena had been like a sister to Isolde and Tristan wouldn't deny her.

"Where is she, Lena," Tristan asked softly as she embraced him yet again. Magda stood in the doorway with a look of relief on her normally scowling face. Magda didn't care one bit if Tristan took Rosheen or any other child with him, but his promise to keep Darius away was enough for her to be grateful. She constantly had bruises all over her body from the abusive Roman, and Tristan was probably the only man that didn't fear Darius and would probably kill him.

"She's just outside the fort no doubt. She always sneaks off, even if I scold her," Lena said lightly as she led Tristan toward the expanse of hills and forest beyond the fort.

Rosheen had been lying on her back in the tall grass of rise nearest the fort, when she heard foot steps approaching her position. Rosheen was about to pop up and make a run for it when she heard a familiar lilt. "Don't go running off. I'm not going to hurt you," Tristan found himself saying that same line to his daughter yet again. He watched as Rosheen rose slowly from the tall grass. Even standing, the small redhead was still only barely taller than the grass itself. Tristan smiled when he saw the grass wreath around the child's head. Several pieces of grass were braided together making almost a halo around Rosheen's small head.

"You…are you…" she fumbled as she looked at Tristan with wide eyes. Tristan had forgotten that Cassia still wore his cloak, and therefore his face was free to be seen by any who wished it. He could see the recognition in the small girl's large green eyes as she watched him approach her. Tristan didn't say a word, but he nodded to her unformed question as he slowly knelt before her. Without a word or any indication that she understood, she flung herself into his arms with as much speed as her small body could muster.

Tristan fell over, not expecting the child to be so accepting or passionate. He carefully cradled her as she squeezed him as hard as she could. "You're really my daddy," she said more than asked as she looked up at the dark scout. "You didn't show your face because you wanted to surprise me, right," she rambled, completely oblivious to the fact that Tristan had planned on leaving her behind.

Tristan stroked Rosheen's wild hair gently as he smiled at the fact that she was no longer afraid of him. "Yes, I just wanted to surprise you," he whispered lovingly as their eyes met for the first time in nearly five years. Her large green orbs and his deep brown one's did all the speaking that neither ever could. They sat for a long time with Tristan holding his lost child on his chest just enjoying the feeling of love he hadn't experienced in so long. After what seemed like only a moment but in reality had been sufficiently longer, Tristan sat up with Rosheen still in his arms. "Aunt Lena is packing your things so that you can come home with me. That is, only if you want to," Tristan growled hoping that she would agree. Now that he had her in his arms, he didn't wish to let her go.

"You want me," she said in disbelief. Tristan felt his heart wrench when she said that and found himself placing a soft kiss on the tip of her nose as he had done when she was an infant. Rosheen giggled and wiped at her nose before returning the gesture. Tristan felt overjoyed and awkward at the bond they already shared, but nothing mattered except the feel of his daughter in his weary arms.

"Of course I want you. No one is going to take you away from me again," he whispered in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. "Now let's go get you cleaned up before our big journey," Tristan said as he slowly stood and began to make his way back to the fort with the small girl still clinging to his chest.

As the pair walked through the crowded fort, Tristan could hear the whispers loudly, as though they screamed their insults and accusations direction in his face. He knew that the reception would be just as accusatory at their own fort, but at least there the people respected or feared him enough to keep quiet. As they neared the inn, Rosheen curled into Tristan's chest even tighter. Tristan looked down and smirked, before he noticed Darius standing with a group of soldiers just outside the tavern. Tristan held the young girl closer and entered the inn without so much as a word.

Galahad sat on a bench in the main hall of the inn stringing his Sarmatian bow. As Tristan entered Galahad barely looked up, knowing that he was in little danger. When he heard a soft giggle and a sweet a honey voice, however, he looked up. "Who is he daddy," a small redhead asked innocently from her place in the embrace of Tristan's arms.

"Galahad, a brother to me," Tristan whispered softly to the young girl. Galahad's jaw fell to the floor and it nearly got up and left, he was so shocked when the girl called Tristan, of all people, "daddy."

"Tristan, who is this," Galahad stammered as he looked at the small girl who couldn't have been over four or five summers.

"I'm Rosheen," the small child announced proudly. "Daddy said that I get to go home with you, Uncle Galahad," Rosheen said gleefully. Galahad's jaw dropped once again as he heard the endearment come from the girl. Tristan couldn't help but smirk at the surprise written plainly all over Galahad's face.

"I will explain it all later, Galahad, but she is my daughter from when I served here," Tristan explained calmly as Rosheen began to squirm in his arms, wanting to be let down. Tristan obliged and Rosheen hurried over to see what her new friend was doing, as Tristan watched her with the intensity of an over-protective father. Galahad would have laughed at the expression on his brother's face had he not been in such shock at the sudden change. Before either man realized it, Rosheen was playing with the bow that had been in Galahad's hands. Tristan looked down at his daughter and smiled. "Can you watch her for a moment," Tristan asked hesitantly, not really wishing to leave her at the moment. Galahad nodded dutifully, and Tristan gave him a sharp look before disappearing down the hall.

Minutes later Tristan returned to find Rosheen sleeping on the bench next to the youngest knight, while Galahad finished stringing and tightening his bow. Tristan inwardly smiled knowing that Rosheen had slept very little the night before, judging by the fact that she had joined him in the cemetery near midnight. Tristan silently lifted the slumbering Rosheen into his arms while Galahad spoke softly. "She's one of Arthur's angels, isn't she?"

"She's her mother in every way," Tristan said sadly as he carried his charge to his humble room. He laid her small frame on the cot and waited for her to wake. He had a bath waiting, but he was far from the paternal type that knew exactly what to do with children. He just prayed that she was not opposed to baths, and that she didn't make things any more awkward for the taciturn scout. Watching her small chest rise and fall lulled Tristan into a calm mood that was only broken when a loud knock was heard on the door. Before Tristan could say anything, Dagonet entered the room carrying a bundle of clean cloths and jars of salve.

When Dagonet looked up he stopped dead in his tracks staring at the slight form on the cot which the scout sat beside protectively. Dag silently placed his bundle on a table and went to look at the young girl who was waking from her slumber at the sudden intrusion. "Is this her," the large but gentle knight asked as he watched her stretch and yawn.

"Who are you," Rosheen asked with enthusiasm equal to her first encounter with one of Tristan's comrades, completely uninhibited by the remnants of sleep in her mind. Once again Tristan explained who her new acquaintance was, and Rosheen sat fascinated with Dag for many minutes. When Rosheen looked to be dozing off again, Dagonet spoke to the scout.

"I came to look at your injuries. You had a fever when we set out, and it doesn't look to have gotten any better," Dagonet informed the scout as he noticed the sickly flush in Tristan's normally dark skin. At Dagonet's words, Tristan finally felt his adventures catching up with him. His injuries began to scream again, his head swam, and he could feel the heat emanating from his skin.

"I'll be fine, Dag, I can take care of my own injuries once I get Rosheen cleaned up," Tristan protested. Dagonet sighed, knowing that the scout wouldn't accept any treatment until his charge was taken care of. Dagonet nodded, frustrated at the scout's stubborn nature and left the room as quietly as he had come. Dag, however, was not as easily cowed as Tristan would have like. Dagonet went straight to Cassia's chambers only to find the feisty roman slave exiting in a new dress green dress and cleaner visage. "Cassia," Dagonet called with a smile and was nearly knocked over by Cassia's enthusiastic embrace.

"I thought I would never see you again," Cassia said into the large knight's chest as she continued to hug him. "You've always been there for me, and I love you," she whispered. Dagonet was taken aback by her uncharacteristic affection. "I know I sound out of my mind, but I'm allowed to. I nearly died today," she said as she sensed his questioning look more than saw it.

Dagonet chuckled at her bluntness. "You do not have to explain any affection you are willing to give. I am happy to take it without reason," he assured her as he stroked her newly clean hair. Dagonet stepped back and took in what had been filth and rags and not much else just hours before. Cassia looked years younger as she stood in a well fitting dress with her hair hanging in soft curls around her shoulders. Her feet were bare, as usual, and she looked to have regained the life that had been dimming over that past few months. Dagonet couldn't help but feel the sheer joy of life that emanated from the small roman. It seemed that the entire experience had left her loving life even instead of fearing it.

"You look upset, Dag. Can I help you with anything," she asked concernedly as she played with the charm hanging around her wrist. She had been on her way to see Tristan, but if Dag needed her help or just her presence she wasn't going to deny him.

"I have a problem," he admitted slowly and they found themselves speaking conspiratorially in the shadow of the hall, as he told her about Tristan and his stubbornness.

Tristan was beginning to panic when Rosheen woke from her nap. He knew nothing about children, and for the first time in years Tristan felt like he was making a large mistake by accepting the responsibility of this child. "I have a bath for you," he said in a cold whisper. However, when Rosheen heard the word bath, she darted toward the waiting water and jumped in without warning. She didn't even bother to remove her ragged clothes.

"I love baths, but Aunt Lena never gave us real ones like this. I love you daddy," she added with a toothy smile.

"But you need…" just as Tristan was beginning to feel helpless, the door to his chambers opened to reveal a timid looking Cassia.

"I was informed that you had your hands full. I came to do as you wish," she said falling easily back into her roll as slave. She couldn't help but smile, however, when she heard Tristan's defeated sigh.

"You wouldn't by chance be good with children," he asked hopefully. Cassia smiled gently but frowned when she noticed how ragged the scout looked. Cassia had nearly been executed but was otherwise uninjured. Tristan, however, still faced danger if he didn't take care of his injuries.

"Sit down, you're exhausted. I can take care of this," she said authoritatively. Tristan frowned but complied, feeling even worse than when Dagonet had visited. Rosheen was watching the woman carefully from her place in the tub. Cassia walked over to her and spoke softly, "you must be Rosheen. Tristan has told me much about you. I am Cassia… let's see if we can't get you clean." Rosheen smiled at Cassia's words and easily complied when the small brunette helped her remove her tattered and sopping dress.

Tristan watched through half lidded eyes as Cassia bathed his daughter with more love and care than even when she tended his wounds. She couldn't heal, but cleaning was something she was an expert at, and she easily made the transition from clothes to children. Tristan felt his body crumpling to the cot as he watched the pair, but he had little choice in the matter. He had had so many things on his mind before, and the fever and pain took the back burner. However, now that he could relax all of the pain came rushing back.

Cassia glanced up from where her and Rosheen were giggling and cleaning the small girl. When she saw that Tristan had collapsed across the cot, she immediately rose and went to sit beside him. His eyes were still half open, and she could see the fever in them. She gently stroked his hair as she spoke to his semiconscious form. "You are still stubborn, you fool. You have to let Dag see you, or you won't live long enough to see that girl meet her next birthday," Cassia whispered in his ear. Tristan barely nodded, but Cassia knew that he wouldn't protest. She simply raised her head and called for Dag, who had been waiting outside. As Dagonet went to work on the scout, Cassia finished washing Rosheen, who was watching her father worriedly. "I need to find you some clothes," Cassia told her as she wrapped the girl in a large cloth.

"Is daddy going to be alright," Rosheen asked on the brink of tears as she watched Dagonet mix herbs and pact wounds for the scout.

"He'll be fine, honey. He just had an exhausting mission. He'll be fine in a few days," Cassia said as she placed Rosheen on the cot next to the ill Tristan before hurrying out of the room to find the girl some clothes. Dag smiled at how the girl just watched, not interfering with his work. He was actually quite surprised when she removed the cool cloth from the scout's forehead and rewet it in the basin beside the bed, before placing it back on the scout's brow. Dagonet noticed the small hands wrapped around one of Tristan's larger ones and couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She had just met her father, and now she had to watch him struggle through illness.

It was well into the night before Dagonet was satisfied that the scout was going to fine. Cassia had retrieved the others as she searched for garments for Rosheen, and each had been introduced to the lively, but worried, child. At this point, Rosheen lay asleep in Cassia's weary arms, and Cassia lay in Kay's strong embrace. All of them were gathered in the hall waiting for Dagonet to inform them of the scout's condition. Lancelot was pacing and cursing the stubbornness of the scout, while the others simply waited in silence.

Dagonet came out near midnight with a weary smile on his face. Cassia sat bolt upright when she saw her gentle friend. "His fever broke nearly an hour ago, and he is awake at the moment. He said that Rosheen better be in his room before he passes out from the herbs I gave in, or all of our lives may be in danger," Dag said as his smile broadened at Tristan's protectiveness.

Cassia laughed as she rose and carried Rosheen into the dark room. The others smiled tiredly and began to head toward their own rooms. Dagonet stopped Arthur for a brief moment before his commander could disappear as well. "Arthur, though I don't suggest it, Tristan can probably ride as far as the next fort tomorrow, if you do not wish to stay here another day," Dagonet said grimly.

"I do not wish to push him, but I believe it is for his own good as well as ours that we must leave as soon as possible," Arthur said, and Dagonet nodded his agreement before following Arthur toward their quarters.

Cassia placed Rosheen gently on the bed beside her father, having nowhere else to put the small girl. Both stirred immediately when she did so, but not so much as to wake. Tristan unconsciously pulled Rosheen close to him and Rosheen snuggled close to her father's chest. Cassia had tears in her eyes as she watched the pair silently. Tiredly Cassia found a chair and sat beside them keeping watch as they slept.

XxXxX

I think that I am shocked more than anyone else will be by the fact that I managed to update today. Thank you to everyone who left those kind reviews. I'm glad that someone is enjoying my work. I hope you enjoyed this very long chapter. I don't know when I will update again because I want this to end but I don't really want to end it. Please continue to tell me what you think. There were a lot of things going on in this chapter, so tell me what you thought of it.


	38. Loose Ends

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

Chapter 38 Loose Ends

Cassia didn't dare to move once she was sure that both father and child were peacefully at rest. Tristan was far too light a sleeper, even in illness, for her to make an exit. Cassia's eyes brightened with tears of content as she watched both Tristan and Rosheen cling to each other as though they feared being separated once again. Cassia nearly laughed at how ignorant the fearsome scout was when it came to children; however, what he didn't have in knowledge he certainly made up for by the sheer love Cassia could feel emanating from him when Rosheen was near.

As Cassia watched the newly reunited pair, she couldn't help but wonder if Tristan had originally planned on bringing the girl back with him, or if he had even planned on returning for her. Cassia knew that something had changed in Tristan, and she couldn't help but shudder at the thought that if it hadn't, both she and Rosheen might have faced drearier ends. Cassia was shocked by her own reaction to the past days events, but when she thought about it she had her reasons. She knew that when she had been left in the clearing, she had been at peace with her choices and mistakes. The fact that she was still alive meant little to her. What meant the most was that Tristan had come back for her, and that she had the chance to see each of the knights once again. As she had realized back in the clearing, her most cherished moments were spent in the company of those who she had once called enemy.

With those thoughts swirling in Cassia's mind, dawn came very swiftly. The sun had barely risen over the lush island when Cassia noticed Rosheen begin to wake. Cassia had half a mind to remove Rosheen from the bed, so as not to disturb Tristan, but she thought better of it when she saw the change in the scout's breathing. No sooner did the small bundle of energy wake, than she was bouncing on the cot to wake her father. "Daddy, the sun is up. Do we get to go home now," the girl asked excitedly. Cassia heard Tristan groan and decided to intervene.

"Come here, honey," Cassia called softly to the small girl. "Tristan is still ill, and needs a bit more rest. Why don't we go find some breakfast before we disturb him further," she said lightly as Rosheen rushed over to her. Cassia lifted an energetic Rosheen into her lap as she tried to comb her fingers through the child's wild hair. Cassia could not get over the fact that Rosheen was so friendly and joyful, which was in complete contrast to Tristan's solitary and dour countenance.

"I am fine," they both heard from the bed. Tristan slowly sat up as they watched him. "I will take her," he said referring to retrieving food. Cassia nodded to Tristan's request knowing that she was still under his command. She knew that Tristan would never verbally or physically abuse her again, but she also didn't feel the need to disobey the scout even if consequences would be minimal. Cassia noticed Tristan struggling to stand although he still hid his pain better than any other man she had ever met.

Quickly Cassia stood placing Rosheen on her feet and aided the scout to stand as well. She frowned when she had to steady him more than once before he was able to stand on his own. Rosheen made to bolt into her father's arms, but Cassia intercepted and lifted the girl herself. Cassia retrieved a clean tunic for the scout with Rosheen still squirming in her arms. Careful of his wounds, Tristan pulled on the thick tunic. A few weeks ago, he would have been angered by the fact that Cassia had retrieved his heaviest tunic as a way of saying 'you're sick whether you admit it or not,' but after what they had been through he accepted it as her way of showing she still cared. He knew that they would probably never speak of what they went through ever again and most likely dance around each other, but he felt that there was no longer any tension between them. It was a good feeling.

Slowly the three made their way down to the tavern, which was attached to the inn. The other knights already sat eating, knowing that they would be leaving shortly. When the three arrived, everyone smiled and offered to retrieve their meals for them. Breakfast was pleasant as everyone simply enjoyed the fact that they were still all alive and together.

As they made their way back to their quarters to finish packing Tristan pulled Cassia aside. "I have one final thing that I must attend to. I shall return before we leave," and with that said he disappeared into the crowds. Cassia knew better than to question his actions, so she accepted it and followed Rosheen who was getting a piggyback ride from a grumbling Galahad. Cassia couldn't help but smile at the way Rosheen had already wrapped the knights, as well as her father, around her little finger. The young girl had taken a special liking to the youngest knight, who seemed to be just as fascinated with her as she was with him. Cassia had a feeling that she, and possibly Arthur, would be the ones getting the bad rap for keeping her disciplined.

Cassia packed her meager belongings with what she had retrieved for Rosheen, then she packed the scout's belongings as well. It was when she noticed not one dagger in his possessions that she realized what Tristan had gone to do. Cassia could not blame her master, but she sincerely hoped that he would come back unharmed, for Rosheen's sake if nothing else. The small redhead had been running circles around the other knights while they prepared. Rosheen seemed unfazed by the dangerous knights; however she tended to keep her distance from both Arthur and Lancelot. Cassia was unsure of the reason, but she had a feeling it was because of Arthur's roman armor and Lancelot's close friendship with him.

As Cassia was carrying two saddle bags out of her room, she saw a giggling Rosheen bounding toward her. Cassia sighed in relief when the small girl was lifted off the ground just before she could collide with Cassia. She hadn't noticed Gawain waiting outside until the rambunctious little girl was in his arms. "Thank you," Cassia said gratefully as she began to move into the hall.

"It's not a problem," Gawain said as he made faces at Rosheen, who made ones right back at him. "I actually came to see how you were doing," he explained as he set Rosheen back on the ground. Cassia was surprised at how easily Gawain handled Tristan's child, when the blonde knight obviously had issues with Tristan at the time.

"I'm doing fine. I am happy just to see another day," Cassia said with a calm smile as she shifted the bags over her shoulders.

"I'm happy that you can see another day too. When you disappeared, I thought Tristan had… well… Tristan had become unpredictable and we didn't know what really happened until he showed up at the fort," Gawain fumbled as he tried to explain.

"You thought he had killed me," she asked with a wry smile. Gawain's crystal eyes widened but conveyed the truth of her statement. Cassia laughed a little, before speaking. "Tristan is a practical being. He wouldn't have wasted four months of his time keeping me if he was just going to kill me in the end."

"I've seen Tristan do…" Gawain was cut off before he could condemn his friend yet again.

"Gawain, you may think that your hostility toward him is well hidden, but it is as plain as day in everything you do. I'm asking you to forgive Tristan," she said seriously as she finally placed the heavy bags upon the ground. Standing in the middle of the bustling hall, Cassia stood firmly with her hands planted on her hips in front of a bewildered Gawain.

"I don't think…" Gawain was once again cut off.

"Don't think, Gawain. He is your brother in a way possibly thicker than blood. For all your condemnation, it was Tristan who came after me when I was captured. It was Tristan who stopped the sword from entering my chest. He has done many wrongs, and I don't know if he will ever even forgive himself, but he has tried to redeem himself. I will not be the one to condemn a man in search of redemption for the mistakes he made along the way, and I hope that you shall not either," she spoke softly but her words were no less powerful than if she had screamed it at him. Gawain averted his gaze only to see Rosheen standing several feet away watching them with wide eyes.

"Why do you hate daddy," the small girl asked as tears began to run down her cheeks. Gawain went to move toward her but noticed that her posture said she was going to bolt. Cassia, however, paid no attention to anything but the girl's tears as she lifted the sobbing child into her arms.

"Gawain does hate anyone, precious. They were just angry for a while, but everything is going to work out," Cassia assured the upset girl as she gently stroked her shaking back. Gawain saw the lingering sadness in the girl's bright green eyes as she peered over Cassia's shoulder at him. Before he realized it, he was standing beside Cassia lifting Rosheen into his arms. 'How did Tristan get blessed with this tiny goddess as his child,' he thought as he held her at arms length suspended in the air.

"There is no reason to cry, Rosheen. Your father and I simply have our arguments like any friends or siblings do. It's nothing to be upset over," he said before throwing her up in the air lightly and catching her in a tight embrace. "Everything is going to be alright, so let's see that beautiful smile of yours," he said as he looked into the bright eyes again.

"You aren't mad at Daddy anymore," she asked slowly as she grasped one of Gawain's dreadlocks and tugging gently. He shook his head, and she graced him with a smile as she continued to tug at his long hair.

XxXxXxX

Tristan was beginning to forget what it was like to feel clean. He hadn't bathed since before being captured and the mud and dirty had found its way into every pore and crevice of his weary form. At least when he had woken his morning, his face had been clean from the cloths Rosheen had wiped it with. Now however, splatters of blood and grime covered it once again as well as the rest of his body. Darius had not been the fearsome opponent that Tristan had expected, and the battle hadn't lasted very long. A few well thrown daggers, and Darius was barely a threat. Disposing the body was easy enough, seeing as many of the hidden dungeons around the fort were rarely visited or completely forgotten.

Now Tristan felt exhausted once again as he desperately tried to wipe his face before finding Rosheen again. He thought that he had gotten it all as he trudged silently into the inn. As he made his way down the long corridor, he heard Cassia's light laughter accompanied by Gawain's own feral version. Tristan inwardly groaned at the idea of having to face his brother knight after all that had happened recently, but he continued anyway.

As Tristan rounded the corner to the wing containing his and Cassia's room he was quickly assaulted by two small fists that pleaded to be lifted up. Tristan sighed as he knelt instead of lifting her, barely having the energy even to do that much. He heard a tiny gasp and immediately felt his daughter's small hands roving over his neck and face. Tristan knew instantly that he hadn't succeeded in getting rid of the blood; however Rosheen's reaction was not what he had anticipated. "Are you okay, Daddy," she asked concernedly. Tristan gave her a small smile as he stilled her hands with his own.

"I am fine, Rosheen," he assured her as he noticed Gawain and Cassia approaching slowly. "Are you ready to leave," he asked her as he moved some bright red hair out of her cherubic face. He received an enthusiastic nod, and found himself smiling once again. Tristan could see Cassia's concerned frown out of the corner of his eye, and realized that he should probably bath before they left. It would be nice to feel clean if only for an hour or two. "Cassia, take Rosheen to meet the horses," Tristan said in a whisper, but it was still commanding. Cassia nodded once again, knowing that it was Tristan's way of assuring her that he would take care of himself.

"Horses? Can I feed them, Daddy," Rosheen asked Tristan excitedly as she bounced up and down in front of him. Tristan nearly rolled his eyes at his daughter's enthusiasm. 'Just like her mother,' he thought as he watched the glow of her eyes become even more intense.

"Yes, just don't spoil them," he said in the sternest voice he could bear to use on her. Rosheen didn't seem to notice his tone as she quickly kissed his cheek before running off ahead of Cassia, who followed close behind with her dark skirts waving in her wake.

Tristan watched Gawain from where he still knelt on the floor, but he no longer saw the obvious hate burning behind the blonde knight's crystal eyes. "Want some help," Gawain offered casually as he approached his comrade. Tristan stoically continued to watch his friend as he was offered an arm to help him stand. Tristan couldn't help but feel a bit wary of Gawain's sudden friendliness after all that had transpired between them. "I'm not going to try anything, so you can stop glaring at me," Gawain laughed as he pulled Tristan up and put a bracing arm around his waist.

"What happened," Tristan asked calmly although his voice was once again gravelly with fatigue.

"I figure that you can't be all that bad if you spawned something as adorable as Rosheen," Gawain joked lightly as the made their way into Tristan's room, leaving the saddlebags in the middle of the hall. "But really, Cassia made me understand a few things," he admitted bashfully. Tristan couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse at the fact that he truly couldn't claim Rosheen as his true daughter. He did love the girl as much as if she were of his blood, but he would not lie to himself and pretend that he had any part in making her. Perhaps she was even more precious to him since she wasn't his, because he realized that the gods had blessed him with such a lovely being even though he did not deserve her.

"She isn't truly mine," Tristan admitted somberly. He felt Gawain's shock more than saw it as they immediately came to a halt.

"What do you mean, she isn't yours. Why the hell are you pretending to be her father if you had no part in making her," Gawain asked more shocked than angry, as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation.

"She was the daughter of my betrothed. I promised that I would love and raise her as I would my own. She was the result of a rape, and I was the one who ended up picking up all the pieces," Tristan admitted as he sat on his cot. He wasn't sure why he had told Gawain what he did, but he knew that he could trust Gawain to keep it secret.

"Wow… You don't despise her for being someone else's," Gawain asked curiously. He couldn't believe what Tristan was telling him.

"Could you despise her," Tristan asked bluntly as he began to remove his dirtied clothes.

"Good point," Gawain said before being interrupted by several maids entering the room with water for a bath. Four young women, resembling each other enough for Tristan to think them sisters, filled the tub that had bathed Rosheen the night before. All four girls had long blonde hair that was tied into a thick plait down their backs. Once they were finished, they each bowed before leaving the room. The final girl turned just before disappearing and winked to Gawain before hurrying down the hall.

Gawain chuckled lightly as he recalled the first night's events before returning to the conversation. "Anyway, what I was going to say was that even if it isn't in blood, you are her father. The fact that you are willing to raise her even though she is not yours speaks of the love you feel for her, and I may not be an expert on children like Bors, but I think that love is all that really matters," Gawain assured him as he aided Tristan to stand once again and move beside the tub. "After all, at least you were betrothed to the woman. Bors cannot even boast that."

"Thanks," was all that Tristan could think to say. He hadn't thought Gawain was that sentimental or deep, but he was surprised. "I'm sorry for all of the things that I've done, but I didn't expect you to forgive me," Tristan admitted with a hiss as his weary body met the steaming water.

"I'm not proud of all the things that I've done either. I can't really condemn you for making some mistakes now can I," he said as he began to head toward the door. "If you need anything, I'll be hanging around making sure that everything is ready to go. I'll take those bags out for you too," he called over his dreadlock covered shoulder as he slipped out of the room, leaving Tristan to bathe in peace.

XxXxXxX

Cassia watched amusedly as Rosheen skipped around the stable petting every horse that would let her. A couple of the meaner beasts nipped at her, but Rosheen had rather quick reflexes resulting in little injury. Cassia couldn't have kept up with the energetic girl even if she had wanted to. Rosheen seemed to float on air as she rushed from stall to stall introducing herself to each animal with great enthusiasm. Cassia still did not feel comfortable around the large beasts unless one of the knights was with her, but she thoroughly enjoyed watching the fearless child.

Cassia hadn't noticed Kay enter the barn with Bors and Lancelot until she was playfully lifted off her feet from behind. "Your letting her get our mounts riled up so they're impossible to control, aren't you," he growled, except it wasn't as menacing as he had hoped since she could hear the mirth in his voice.

"I thought that the great Sarmatian knights never lost control of the steeds," Cassia returned haughtily, as she turned in his arms and hugged him tightly.

"You are always right, aren't you milady," he sighed contentedly as he returned the embrace.

"You are just full of love lately," Lancelot commented as he watched her hold his best friend. "Perhaps we should let you get captured by rebels more often, and you might even share my bed with me," Lancelot quipped as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Cassia laughed lightly as she slapped his arm before giving him a hug as well.

"Is it bad if I just want you to know that I care," she asked him as she buried her head in his armored chest.

Lancelot smiled as he replied, "I shall never complain about your affections, but I just think it odd that we receive all this love and poor Tristan doesn't even get a smile. After all he was the one who searched through Hades to find you." Lancelot knew that Cassia cared for the scout and couldn't help but bring it up. After all the woman went through, she had better have feelings for the scout or else she was simply out of her mind. The more Lancelot thought about it, she was out of her mind either way, but he wasn't going to complain.

"I don't go around hugging Tristan because I prefer to keep all of my limbs," Cassia replied as she stepped away form him and turned to Bors. All of them laughed at her remark, but quieted quickly at her next words. "Do you think she'll fit in at the fort Bors," Cassia asked concernedly as she watched Rosheen continue to play completely oblivious to the new company.

"She's a fine little lass, but you've heard the whispers as much as the rest of us. She's Tristan's daughter, and that's quite a burden all on its own," Bors replied honestly before lightening a little. "But I know my bastards will like her all the same. You can't deny, she's got character," he said as he watched Rosheen slip into the stall containing Tristan's mount.

"How come she can approach that beast without injury, but anytime I go near it the thing goes crazy," Lancelot grumbled as he rubbed a bruise on his hip from when he had tried to lead Tristan's mount when the scout went missing.

"She happens to be much cuter than you," Cassia replied as she went to see what Rosheen was up to. She could feel Lancelot boring holes into her back as she walked away from him. The others laughed, but then began to ready their own steeds.

Tristan sighed contentedly as he slipped on a clean tunic and breeches. He finally recalled what it was to feel human again, not because he had finally washed away the layers of dirt and blood covering his body, but because Tristan finally felt something other than cold emptiness in his chest when he thought about anything other than war. As Tristan slipped on his armor and various weapons, he couldn't stop himself from thinking of Rosheen. The small girl had accepted him without question simply because he had claimed to be her father. Even in her short five years, Tristan knew that she had seen enough not to be considered naïve. However, she had seen his weapons, his fury, and the blood of others that he wore and still she did not question his absence or his love.

No matter how hard Tristan tried to separate the two, the young girl was her mother in every way. He had thought that it would be painful or even unbearable to gaze upon her sweet smile, but Tristan found that when she was near, he couldn't stop from watching her. Whether he was afraid she would disappear from his life if he looked away, or because it warmed his lonely heart even further just to gaze at her; all Tristan knew was that he felt no pain in her presence.

As Tristan strapped on his last weapons, he thought of the journey back to the fort. He had yet to speak with Arthur, but he doubted he wished to hear what his commander had to say. He knew he had disappointed Arthur with his actions over the past months, but he would not apologize to Arthur for it. The only person who needed to hear his apology was Cassia, and she would have it before they reached the strong gates of Hadrian's Wall. Tristan knew that he could not put off the inevitable for much longer; he owed her his life and in return she would have hers. With his reflection completed, Tristan lifted his scimitar from the cot and proceeded to make his way toward the stables. His body was still weak and he could feel his limp setting in from his ankle, but he was no less menacing as he marched toward where his bothers waited for him.

XxXxX

That didn't take too long, now did it? It seems every time I write another chapter, I get farther and farther from the end. However, the next chapter shall be the last, unless I decide to be very verbose and drag it out for another. Thank you to everyone who follows this story as well as those of you who take the time to review. Please continue to let me know what you think, and I promise I shall have the last chapter up very shortly.


	39. No Longer Alone

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my own characters.**

Chapter 39 No Longer Alone

As Tristan entered the stable all heads turned toward him. Arthur sat high atop his midnight charger and looked down at his scout in something akin to respect. All of the other knights also looked on in respect for their comrade as he limped silently along. Tristan did not bother to hide his weariness among his brothers, for it would be a futile effort. They had seen him the night before, and they were not so naïve as to believe him healed in just one night. As Tristan entered the stall containing his dappled grey stallion, he soothingly ran his hand along its flank. The horse responded immediately as it slowly knelt for its master.

Tristan smiled as he retrieved his saddle and placed it on his companion's graceful back. The horse rose quickly for Tristan to tighten the girth as well as to offer his mount an apple that his had procured from the inn's kitchen. He had nearly lost his fingers when the cook noticed him, but the large brunette had not been fast enough to prevent Tristan from stealing both he and his mount a small treat. Once the grey stallion was finished munching his reward, he knelt again so that Tristan could mount up.

Everyone else watched in amazement at how both horse and rider were so attuned to each other's wants and needs. Once Tristan was comfortable in the saddle, the steed found his feet once again and stood calmly in his open stall. Slowly Tristan turned the horse and exited the stall to stand before his comrades. Cassia stood to the side holding Rosheen back from the powerful creatures. Arthur spoke shortly about the journey, and how they would stop once they reached the next village so that they could recover from this trying adventure. As he spoke Cassia could feel Tristan watching her and his daughter from the corner of his eye.

When Arthur finished speaking Tristan rode over to them silently and leaned down so that he could speak with Cassia privately. "You shall ride with me, for I have matters to discuss with you," he spoke in barely a whisper before turning and speaking to his daughter. "You shall ride with one of the others unless you wish to ride with me," he said letting her decide. He wished to speak with Cassia, but that could wait if Rosheen was too frightened to ride with another.

"Really? Can I ride with Galahad, please Daddy, please," she begged and Tristan saw her for the child she was. It brought a smile to his lips that she was still so innocent even with all that she had been through.

"You must ask him yourself, Rosheen. I cannot answer for anyone but myself," he said as he ran his fingers over her unruly hair.

At first Rosheen looked a bit apprehensive about approaching the youngest knight, but she quickly threw back her tiny shoulders and matched toward the waiting group. Tristan helped Cassia mount in front of him and walked his mount over to where his daughter stood before Galahad's horse.

"G-Galahad," Rosheen asked tentatively in order to get the young knight's attention.

"What do you need, Rosheen," Galahad asked with a smile as he dismounted so that he could kneel before her. Galahad looked as though he had received little rest the night before. His own hair was mused to disarray, and he hadn't even bothered to wear a clean tunic. Tristan rolled his eyes when he remembered the look that the maid had thrown Gawain and realized what both knights had been doing after they returned to their rooms.

"Can…can I ride with you because Daddy wants to ride with Cassia, and I don't think I can walk all the way to the next village, and I thought that maybe you would let me ride with you because you are nice, and…" Rosheen was cut off when she finally paused to take a breath from her nervous rambling.

"I would be honored if you would ride with me," Galahad assured her, as he took her small chin and brought it up so that she could look into his eyes. "And you need not be frightened to ask any of us for anything that you wish," he told her before he quickly lifted her into his saddle and mounted behind her. He took notice of the look Tristan sent him that warned of terrible tortures if Rosheen were to come to any harm while in his care. Galahad simply nodded in acknowledgement before kicking his stallion into a smooth walk.

XxXxXxX

They had been riding for over three hours, and Tristan had yet to speak to the woman sitting in front of him. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but even though it was pleasant it was not accomplishing his purpose. As they neared a denser part of the forest, Tristan called to Arthur that he would be scouting ahead before kicking his horse into a gallop down a separate path. Cassia dug her fingers into Tristan's good leg as he picked up speed. She had not expected him to take such a curvy trail at such a speed, and though she felt safe within his arms, it was no reason not to hang on just in case. As he slowed his horse to a steady trot, Cassia turned her head to speak, but Tristan beat her too it.

"We are not here to scout, if that is what you are wondering," he spoke steadily but she could sense something behind his voice that she couldn't place.

"Then why are we here," Cassia asked when no other explanation was forthcoming. She could feel Tristan begin to tense up as he seemed to battle with how to answer her. Cassia could barely see the path in front of them as Tristan's horse weaved this way and that, finding its own trail. The foliage was aglow with the warm light that managed to filter in from the canopy above them, causing the forest to have a magical feel to it. Cassia couldn't help but gasp at the beauty they were surrounded by, when just days before all they could see of the forest was the dreary deadliness of it.

After what seemed like an eternity, Tristan found the words he was searching for. "I wanted to speak with you without the others disturbing us," Tristan spoke in only a whisper, but Cassia could hear him clearly as his words found their way to her ear. There was yet another couple minutes of silence before Tristan spoke again, but Cassia wasn't in a great hurry to leave this place so she didn't mind the delay. "Thank you for sending to girls for the bath," Tristan began slowly.

"You were filthy. I believe it is my duty to see to it that you get what you need," Cassia replied dismissively, but in reality she was truly touched by his gratitude. Tristan could see the appreciation in her eyes as she gazed around at the glowing forest, and he could not help but feel pleased that someone shared his love of the beautiful solitude among that which was still free to be wild. Quickly, Tristan brought himself back to his purpose before he could stop his horse and just enjoy the forest.

"That is why we are here. I wish to speak to you about your duties," Tristan said quickly as though he was uncomfortable with the conversation. Cassia gave his leg an almost imperceptible squeeze, but Tristan knew it was her way of both comforting and hurrying him. "You have been nothing if not a faithful servant to me. You have never complained or acted out of turn. You have done all that I have asked and more, and I…have treated you as though you were nothing but the dirt we traverse as we speak. I said many things that were unwarranted, and I did many things that I realize are unforgivable. However, I wish to apologize for my many wrong doings anyway," Tristan did not pause to let Cassia reply before he continued in his speech.

Tristan knew that if he did not finish this quickly, he would never finish it at all. "When we first met, I told you that you owed me the debt of your life many times over. When I stole your freedom, your life, from you, I could not fathom the severity of what I had done; for I had no life of which to speak. I know this is no excuse for what I did, but now I realize what I have done. I bound you to a debt that is impossible to repay because we are given only one life for a reason. It is to be cherished above, and I have done naught but tarnish it," Tristan paused briefly as he shifted slightly in the saddle.

Cassia did not say a word for her voice had been stolen from her by the silent tears that had filled her being. She could feel Tristan's remorse seep into her as he struggled to do many things that did not come easily to him. The fact that he spoke in more than fragmented phrases was only out shown by the fact that he was apologizing for his actions. Cassia never thought she would hear any of the knights admit that they were wrong. It was refreshing as well as heartbreaking.

"Still you did not complain. You even offered your own life for mine, when your freedom was offered to you at the end of a sword meant to pierce my heart. I cannot phrase this any other way, but you are free to do with your life as you please. I can no longer hold any debt over your head because it is I who is in your debt. When we arrive at the fort, I shall remove those shackles, and you are free to do what you wish. I doubt I will ever see you again after this journey, for I know that what I have done is unforgiv…" Cassia finally found her voice as Tristan lost his own.

"Where shall I go? What shall I do with myself? I know that you think you are doing what is right and just by freeing me, but I never asked for my freedom for a reason. You said it yourself, I am useless," she brought a finger to Tristan's lips when she heard him begin to protest the statement. "Hush. It is true, and we all know it. I can wash clothes, and that is about it. It is not exactly a great talent. If I am not in your service, what shall do? If I have not job, where shall I sleep," Cassia asked remorsefully. "As I told Merlin, I chose to be your slave. All I asked in return was to be appreciated, and perhaps needed for once. All I wanted was to feel like I had a purpose."

"You need not be my slave in order to have a purpose. When we arrive back at the fort, I shall get you a job with the laundress of the soldiers. I am sure that we can find you a place to stay without too much difficulty… You need not worry about what you shall do with yourself. If you do not wish to stay here, any fort in Britain would take you in under Arthur's recommendation," Tristan assured her as he took her chin in his hand to look her in the eye. "You are free, and you always have been. It was not may place to enslave you, but it is my place to aid you with whatever you need."

The tears in Cassia's eyes began to make their silent journey down her weary cheeks as she looked into Tristan's honest eyes. "I didn't let myself believe that you would return for me. But… but as I stood there with sword poised at my chest, I couldn't stop myself from thinking of you. I hoped that you had made it to the fort and that you were well. When I heard your voice in my ear, I thought that it was my imagination… thank you," Cassia choked as she couldn't hold back her soft sobs. "I've been a wreck since we returned. I can't stop hugging them all for fear that if I let go, I'll be back in that clearing, all alone with nothing but a cold blade to accompany me. The others make jokes about it, but for the first time in my life I feel absolutely helpless. Rosheen is actually the one who makes me realize that it is not a dream, for I stopped dreaming of things so wonderful a long time ago," she admitted painfully as Tristan's thumb swept over her soft cheek to remove the solemn tears.

"You are alive, and you are free. Nothing shall change that so long as I breathe," was all he said as he kicked his horse into a gallop back toward the direction of the others. Tristan felt Cassia's tight grasp of him as she silently cried over things he knew he would never truly understand, nor did he have the right to. He was just content that she was alive to ride with him again.

When Tristan and Cassia returned to the column of knights, Cassia was still grasping Tristan's chest tightly. They did not say a word but instead silently rode at the front of the line. Rosheen, who still rode in front of Galahad, watched them intently for many minutes before turning to Dagonet who rode beside her. "Dag, are they in love," the young girl asked almost with a touch of hope in her small voice. Both Dagonet and Galahad looked at Rosheen with gentle eyes before Dagonet thought of the best way to answer her.

"No, Rosheen. Neither of them is ready to love again. Maybe one day they will be, but for now they are simply each others redemption," Dagonet explained in the only way he knew how. He could see that Rosheen didn't truly understand his words, but he knew that one day she would. He just hoped that he would live long enough to see that day, but he also knew that it was likely that none of them would.

XxXxXxX

When they finally arrived at the fort, Arthur was shocked that Gaius had not sent anyone after them or attempted anything. He was also stunned by the way that Tristan was the one to approach him. As Cassia took Rosheen's small hand in her own and led the girl up to Tristan's quarters, the scout followed Arthur toward the commander's own quarters. "Tristan, you must know what I wish to speak about," Arthur started tiredly as they entered his chambers which were still as dusty and disorganized as the last time he had entered them. When the scout didn't reply, Arthur simply continued. "I will withdraw your punishment, if you free her. I never meant to punish you Tristan, but you seem determined to punish yourself so I give you an honorable out," Arthur offered gently.

"She is already free Arthur. You need not worry for her or the trouble she has caused anymore. Is there anything else you wish to speak of," Tristan spoke mechanically, as he leaned against the cluttered desk. Tristan could feel some of the weight lifting off his burdened shoulders, and for the first time in years he felt as though he wasn't drowning. His conscience had let him up for air.

"Tristan, I am sorry for all that has happened to you, to all of you. I wish I could change things, Tristan, but…"

"You cannot. It is pointless to worry about what has happened Arthur because there is nothing you can do about it. If anyone should be mourning their existence, it is me but I now realize my life is too short to waste time on such things," Tristan cut his commander off easily. Deep shades of green and brown met as Tristan and Arthur stared at each other in understanding.

"Can I assume that my best scout is back to his usual self," Arthur asked with a smirk.

"No, I am far from what I was, but that doesn't have anything to do with scouting," Tristan confessed.

"Then you are free to go Tristan," Arthur sighed contentedly. "But before you go… please tell me that you have no more hidden secrets of you past that I will have to deal with," Arthur asked as Tristan reached the door.

"I have a sister back home, but hopefully you'll never have the pleasure of meeting her," Tristan said with a smirk, knowing that his answer would puzzle Arthur for the rest of the night. As soon as Tristan left Arthur's quarters, he went down to the laundry chambers of the fort. As he stepped inside the steam filled room, he immediately saw the figure he was searching for. A tall but frail looking woman stood over a large cauldron of boiling water, filled with filthy garments worn by the Roman soldiers of the fort. What once had been long flowing blonde hair was not wiry and grey held up in a loose bun at the base of her head. Her long and graceful fingers were wrapped tightly around the stick she used to move the clothes, and her lips were set in a determined line.

"What brings a knight of Arthur to my humble chambers," came the raspy but wise voice of the laundress.

"I come in search of a job for the woman who was in my service," Tristan stated calmly as the woman stopped her work and approached him with appraising eyes.

"Why ask me when you and I both know I have little choice in the decision," the woman asked slyly. The older woman walked a circle around the scout as a wolf would do to its prey. She was very tall for a woman and her eyes were level with Tristan's as she halted in front of him.

"She will not work for you, if you do not want her, so you do have say over it," Tristan replied stonily.

"She likes the river better than these stuffy chambers, does she not? I believe I have seen her spend many a beautiful afternoon absorbed in her tasks," the laundress spoke more to herself than to Tristan. "Why did you let her go Tristan? She must have been a good servant," the woman pressed him.

"She was a good servant, Leah. She would be a great help to you," was all Tristan said to the woman before backing away to leave.

"She will take the knights' wind as well as the upper level of the soldiers' quarters. I begin no later than an hour past dawn, and we finish no sooner than sundown. If she is late or has trouble with the soldiers she can find another place to work. Tell her, I look forward to meeting the woman who put life back into the scout's dead eyes, and I hope she may do the same for me," Leah called to Tristan's back as he headed up the stairs toward fresh air. Tristan just smiled to himself as he went to take care of one last thing before meeting Cassia in his room.

XxXxXxX

Cassia sighed anxiously as she finished combing out Rosheen's long red curls. The task had taken longer than it should have, only because Cassia had wished to waste time while Tristan was gone. She prayed that Arthur had not gone through with his original punishment, and found herself wringing her fingers through her gown at the thought of it. Cassia felt ill at the idea of more scars being placed on the scout's strong back.

Rosheen had wandered over to the cot and fallen asleep as soon as they had finished. All the while Cassia had combed out the small girl's hair, Rosheen kept telling her about her ride with Galahad. Cassia couldn't help but smile at the girl's adoration of the youngest knight. They were good for each other because Galahad needed someone to make him fell important, and Rosheen needed someone who understood her innocence.

Cassia was ready to tear her own hair out when finally the chamber door opened. A tired but satisfied looking Tristan walked through the doorway and went directly to his sleeping daughter's side. He gently brushed the hair away from her face before kissing her lightly, and turning to Cassia. "Come," he said stoically, as he once again rose and returned to the door.

"But what about her," Cassia asked as she gestured to the sleeping girl sprawled atop the bed.

"She can get into little trouble here, for she cannot get past the others. Anyway there is nothing in here to hurt her if she wakes. My dagger is too high for her to reach, now come," Tristan assured her as he disappeared into the hall. "You shall work with the fort's laundress, Leah. She is getting on in years, and she is willing to have the help," Tristan explained as he moved toward a narrow hall across from his room. The corridor only contained a staircase, which Tristan hobbled up with Cassia close behind. "You will continue to collect the knight's clothes, as well as collecting the second floor of the soldier's," he continued as he walked down a matching hall to the one on the first floor. As they stepped out of the narrow corridor, Tristan stopped at the door that she presumed to be just above his own.

Cassia was confused as Tristan opened the door, and gestured for her to enter. "I did not both to look for housing for you since you can live here for free. We have many unused rooms, and Arthur will not be opposed to letting you room in one since you shall be working for us as laundress," Tristan explained when he saw her confused glances. "I can have the things moved out of the room by morning," he offered as he watched her take in the room.

Cassia looked around the dusty chamber as Tristan spoke. It looked as though nothing had been touched inside of it for many years. A pair of torn breeches even still hung over the back of a chair. It looked as though its former inhabitant had simply left on an errand and never returned. "Who," she found herself asking, as she ran a gentle hand over the desk beside the door.

"Dinadan," Tristan replied softly, as he watched her reverently inspect the chamber. When Cassia heard the name, the gesture all of a sudden became more meaningful. She had heard bits and pieces about Dinadan, but one thing was certain. He and Tristan had been the best of friends. For Tristan to offer her this room, which he obviously had kept just as it had been, was the greatest honor she had ever had.

"Thank your, sir," was all she could think of saying. No words could describe the feeling of joy she felt, the feeling that he did appreciate her. "You need not move anything, if you do not wish to. I do not take up much space."

"No, this room has been stagnant for far too long. It needs the joy that once filled it again, and only change can do that," Tristan said as he still stood in the doorway, almost afraid to enter.

"Thank you, Tristan. This means more to me than you know," Cassia said as she approached the scout to stand before him as he leaned against the frame of the door.

"I have one favor to ask of you," Tristan said apprehensively, as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Anything," Cassia replied with sincerity shining in her bright eyes.

"As you well know, I have little knowledge or skill with tending children. You seem to have a motherly instinct that I can only envy…" Tristan was stopped as Cassia put a finger to his lips.

"You need not go any further. You cannot expect me to leave the poor girl solely in your care; of course I will help you whenever I am able. But I can assure you, I am not so much better at this than yourself," Cassia assured him eagerly.

"Thank you, I not good with words like Lancelot or Kay or even Gawain. I do not know how I can explain anything, but with my thanks," Tristan said solemnly. "Now go tell the others the news. They should be in the tavern by now. I will see you there later," Tristan said with a bit more life, before leaning forward and letting his lips lightly brush her tilted forehead in a gentle kiss. Before Cassia had time to register his actions, Tristan had already disappeared down the almost hidden hall. Cassia just raised her fingers to her brow where his lips had pressed so briefly but left what felt like a permanent brand upon her skin.

Cassia quickly rushed after him, but it seemed as though the scout had disappeared into thin air. When she went back to his room, Rosheen still lay on the cot asleep, but now she had been tucked under the covers with the greatest of care. Cassia realized that she would not find the scout if he wished for solitude, so she quickly gathered her few belongings to carry to her new room. She wanted to set it up as quickly as possible so that she could go to the tavern to tell everyone the good news, as well as see Tristan again. Before heading down to the tavern, Cassia looked through all of her belongings to find the one thing she hoped she still had.

Tristan had been right, all of the knights were sitting and drinking when Cassia arrived, except Tristan. The elusive scout was no where in sight, but Cassia figured he had other things to attend to before arriving. As the other's saw her she could feel their eyes staring at her in shock. She knew that wearing a gown almost identical to her old red dress would cause more than a few of their jaws to drop. Cassia had begged the seamstress, to make the gown for her with the others that Tristan had commission when she first arrived. The seamstress had agreed simply because she knew that Tristan would pay, no questions asked. Cassia had hidden it from the scout, for fear of what he would do if he knew she had wasted his hard earned money on it. She had seen it as payment for the dagger he had taken from her, which had been paid for by her original red dress. Now she wore it as a sign of her renewed freedom. This one hugged tighter than the first had because Cassia once again weighed more than when she had first met the knights. Though it hugged her curves, it still flowed loosely past her hips down to the floor. Cassia had even combed through her own hair, and let it cascade down her back.

Cassia could feel Lancelot's lecherous gaze, like that of a hawk to its prey. However, Cassia calmly ignored it as she lifted a drink off the bar and walked toward the table. Without a warning word to Lancelot, the drink promptly ended up in his lap as Cassia passed him to sit between Gawain and Kay. The entire table erupted into laughter at the sight, as Lancelot rose angrily. "Why I'll have Tristan…" he yelled, though he didn't mean it.

"Tristan can't help you with that, my friend," Cassia cut him off. "A nice wench might help you tend to it though," she said with an innocent smile. Lancelot just grumbled as he wrung out his shirt. Not to the surprise of anyone, three young serving wenches rushed to aid Lancelot with the task.

"What makes you in such high spirits," Kay asked mirthfully as his eyes moved from Lancelot to the woman next to him.

"More importantly, what warrants such a beautiful outfit," Gawain added quickly as he let his eyes wander over her form. Cassia just laughed at everyone's stares and inquisitive gazes.

"I am free," she said in a breathless whisper, but somehow everyone around the table heard her clearly. Before anyone could question if her words meant what they all hoped they did, Vanora came running over to embrace her.

"It is so good to have you back," Vanora said as she pulled Cassia out of her seat to inspect her. She saw the fading bruises on Cassia's form, and frown immediately. "I'll kill him," Vanora said as fire seemed to ignite in her eyes.

"No… you won't Van," Cassia said as she hugged Vanora again. Vanora hugged the older woman tightly in return, and told Cassia several times how beautiful she was in that dress.

"Why would you want to go kill him now, after he found a little girl to do all the work for you," Lancelot asked as he continued to grumble about his soaked clothing. The three girls hushed him while sending angry glares at Cassia. Vanora just looked at him oddly before she heard Cassia speak again.

"I'm free Vanora," Cassia said still in a whisper, as though saying it aloud would make it untrue. Vanora's eyes widened to the size of saucers before she let out a shriek that drew everyone's attention to the pair of women. The other knights took that as conformation of their suspicions and everyone immediately drank to Cassia's freedom. Cassia found herself being tossed back and forth between the knights as they all embraced her and congratulated her. After everyone had settled down enough to take their seats, Cassia explained to Vanora, as well as any of the others who cared to listen, what happened to her and Tristan during the journey.

When her tale was finished, Cassia once again found herself being tossed between knights as they all insisted to have at least one dance with the newly freed woman. Cassia enjoyed their enthusiasm, but found her self constantly watching the door in case Tristan arrived. As the hour became later and later, Cassia realized that Tristan was not coming. Her smile faded slightly, but everyone was too drunk to notice.

Cassia knew that she was being foolish, but she had hoped to thank him again and maybe get a dance. She knew that she would see him in the morning no doubt when she picked up his laundry, but she had hoped he would celebrate with them. Just as Cassia was beginning to pity herself, she straightened her shoulders and told herself that Tristan hated festivities and his gift to her this afternoon was more meaningful than any drunken interaction she would have at the tavern.

Cassia hadn't noticed that Arthur had joined them at some point during the festivities, and was utterly shocked when he asked her for a dance. "It is good to see you are fairing well," Arthur spoke as he spun Cassia around. She just nodded, still too stunned by his sudden friendliness to form a word. "It is also good to see my scout looking well again." Cassia was about to speak but Arthur silenced her with a finger to her lips. "Tristan cares about you. Perhaps as a friend or maybe more, I do not truly care. What I care about is the happiness of my men. You have a way of raising their spirits, and I can only feel gratitude to you for that," Arthur finished as did the song. Cassia was once again speechless as Arthur led her back to the table. "Before she could take her seat though, Arthur whispered in her ear. "He goes to the cemetery when he needs to think."

XxXxXxX

The cemetery was bitterly cold as the late autumn wind swept through, weaving between the graves and beyond into the thick fog over the rise. Tristan didn't seem to notice the biting air as he sat, in just his tunic and armor. He had purchased a new cloak that afternoon but the clean garment sat folded atop the grave before him, where the knight's feet would lie beneath. Tristan sat silently for quite a while just cutting up an apple with the dagger that had long sat useless in Dinadan's chambers.

Slowly as Tristan finished his apple, he raised his head to glance at the small mound before him. "I hope your feet are warm, brother," Tristan said with a smirk, "for it looks to be a harsh winter… I gave her your room. I hope you don't mind because she needs it more than you do. If you had any luck at all, you are roaming the steppes right now as a stallion anyway." Tristan paused as he leaned back a bit, making himself comfortable. "You would have liked her, I think. She has spirit; that's the best way I can describe her. She will be far more capable to keep up with Rosheen than I am. Even now, when I feel like I had the life breathed back into me, I still feel old beyond my years. I came here to tell you that I no longer fear a death less noble than yours. All I worry for now is that they will be taken care of when I am gone. I know Cassia will look after Rosheen when I die, but I hope there will be others left to watch over them both," Tristan told the cold earth as though his friend sat right there beside him, listening intently.

"And Isolde, if you are willing to listen to the man who could not save himself never mind the one's he loved, I miss you. I will always miss you as will Rosheen, but I realize now that you have haunted me so long not because you wished me to blame myself, but instead for me to forgive myself. Dinadan always used to tell me that I had to forgive myself before I could try to live again. I didn't listen to him then because I thought I had no reason to live since I no longer had you to give me life. I thought there was no moving on after what happened, but Cassia fucked all that up," Tristan said with a smirk. "She is the best friend I could ask for after what we have been through, though I doubt she'll ever realize it. But she made me understand that I have to live if not for myself then for the others who depend on me. I love you Iz, but this is the last you'll see of me. I hope you do not haunt me anymore, though I would welcome your sweet face in all of my dreams. But I guess I have to try living before I can join you in death," Tristan finished and lapsed into a contented silence.

Tristan was so lost in his own meditation that he barely noticed the presence beside him. When he felt a small hand tap his shoulder he opened one eye to peer at his daughter, who was not dressed for the wintry weather. Her small dress was thin as a sheet, and he could see the small bumps beginning to show themselves on her small arms. "Who were you talking to," the small girl asked as she wiped the sleep from her eyes with a small yawn.

"Your mother, sweetheart," Tristan admitted openly, as he stroked her cheek from where he sat before her.

"What did she say," she asked curiously as she looked around as though she expected to see Isolde standing somewhere.

"She said it was time for me to move on because I have duties here to attend to. She said I can't keep living in the past. If I do, I won't get to enjoy the time I have with you," Tristan spoke gently to Rosheen as she stared at him with her large eyes that looked almost ethereal in the light of the stars.

"Mommy sounds very wise," Rosheen said as she moved closer to her father slowly.

"She was," Tristan told her as she silently crawled into his lap and clung to him, like he would disappear into the fog with the other lost spirits if she didn't hold him. They sat holding each other for a long time before the silence was momentarily broken.

"Are you going listen to her, Daddy," Rosheen asked as she clung to him tighter, "because I don't want to lose you again. Nobody wanted me before you came, and I don't want to be alone again," Rosheen whispered into his tunic.

"You won't lose me, Rosheen. I would never leave you again because I don't want to be alone anymore either. You're all I have, and I won't let that go," he assured her as he rubbed her back tenderly. "Now don't fret. We must be grateful for every moment we have because they pass so quickly," the scout whispered into her hair as he gently kissed the top of her head as his mother had always done to him. Slowly they both found their gaze lifted to the heavens where they watched the souls of great spirits shine in the night sky. Neither noticed the figure standing just beyond the gates of the graveyard. Her long gown billowing in the wind as she watched over those she had come to care for. They were all together. Nothing could touch them; nothing could harm them because they had each other. They were no longer alone.

Fin

XxXxX

I can't believe I finished this. I was in a real slump for a while, and I was pretty sure I was just going to give up, but everyone's reviews and support made me finish it. I hope that you enjoyed this ending, and please don't kill me for not letting Tristan and Cassia get together. This was my original ending from when I started, and I almost changed it but I didn't think that it would have been true to their characters. They weren't ready for anything else yet.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and read this. Please drop me a review telling me what you thought of the story, whether it is good or bad. It is definitely up to you whether I dive in and make a sequel to this. So let me know what you think. Thank you, again, to everyone who followed this.


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